Tom Just Tom
by Vixen With A Vendetta
Summary: An impulsive purchase at a pet store begins a journey that neither of them were ready to make. Post-Hogwarts AU.
1. Chapter 1

It began as a passing thought on a still summer day. After the war, loneliness wasn't something that she had thought about. For beginning her life at Hogwarts crying in a girl's bathroom, it seemed fitting that the last time she left it she was far from alone. For the first year after the war, she was hardly alone. It was an endless barrage of rebuilding, press releases and meetings. Harry and Ron were there too. For all the _Daily Prophet's_ front cover photos of the Golden Trio, they never seemed to capture the cracks in the façade.

After everything settled, including the reparations and the over indulgent Ministry apologies, Hermione craved the silence. She couldn't stand crowds without looking for all the exits in the room. Her eyes couldn't focus on someone's face long enough to appear sincerely interested while she was trying watch who was reaching for their wand. Muffled whispers sounded too close to curses. Camera flashes made her flinch.

No, she most certainly didn't like large gatherings.

It wasn't a surprise to Harry and Ron when she opened a bookstore in Hogsmeade. The property had a flat above the shop. The previous owners lost in the war. It was close to Hogwarts, where she spent the first six months helping rebuild after. Hogsmeade's crowds were much smaller and more sporadic than Diagon Alley. School children were more innocent reporters.

After the war, many things never came home, including her parents. It was a passing thought on a summer day that she added Crookshanks to that list. She never saw orange ball of fur after the final battle, likely among the lost. She thought about just how silent her flat was without even the click of nails against the hardwood floors or the occasional yowl in the middle of the night.

* * *

Magical Menagerie made the corners of her eyes twitch. The smell of bird must was sharp on her nose. Several breeds of feathers, fur and many prickly things screeched in unpleasant ways on her ears. On the plus side, she wasn't battling a throng of first years in the meager amount of retail space being the middle of the summer. What made her lip twist in displeasure was the options to choose from.

Pgymy Puffs. Too fluffy, cute to the point it made her itch.

Rats. Wrong for all the obvious toe-missing reasons.

Fire crabs. Pretty, but too flammable.

Owls. More messengers than companions.

The thought of a cat just made her sigh.

It was while frowning at the mewing kittens that Hermione heard another customer, rather child complain loudly to their mother that all the pets in this store were lame. She stifled a snort to keep from agreeing with the young boy.

"Can't we just go to Adriadne Spinner?" He whined before being dragged out of the store by the sleeve behind a disgruntled mother.

* * *

A couple of years ago, she would've hesitated at the thought of wondering through Knockturn Alley alone. The decrepit narrow cobblestones that patronized the families of Death Eaters were mostly still these days. Many shops were shut down from a combination of raids and a dwindling customer base. There were many discussions about revitalizing the area to help erase some of its more unsavory past, but she didn't keep up on the Ministry reformation affairs as much once she began her studies and opened the shop.

"I thought you only sold spiders here," She wondered aloud to the shop owner as she eyed the cages along the wall. He was a gnarly creature of crooked long fingers and wiry grey hair. The wrinkles marring his face spoke of a lifetime of snarling than smiling.

"Blackshire's closed," He answered her gruffly, refusing to look up from yellow aged accounting books on the counter. "We acquired their inventory."

She nodded and didn't bother asking if the closing had to do with sales or other activities. This shop was certainly more interesting than the first. She kept her arms wrapped around herself, most certain if she got too close to the cages, these creatures would bite. She didn't doubt they were poisonous too.

There were many a variety of spiders, toads, and raptors. Many of which came with sharp eyes that followed her around, as if they could see through her sleeve to the angry scar on her forearm. Like if they knew she still woke in the middle of the night and the Cruciatus never left. It wasn't until she found the only one in the store did it occur to her that it was the _only_ one in the store. Even in the darkness of the dreary establishment, she could see the glitter of the scales, wound round and round. Its eyes were closed, either sleeping or bored of the company, she didn't know.

"What species is this one?" She gasped, stepping closer to the protective glass between her and it. For a moment, she wasn't sure if the glass, however charmed it was, was enough when her eyes began to focus on it.

"St. Lucian Silverscale," The owner answered her, seeming to have decided his customer garnered enough interest to look up from his papers. "It's quite rare," He clarified with a leer, staring at the messy bush of curls.

She nodded, but didn't look away. Brown eyes followed the intricate pattern of varying diamonds and swirls. "How long is it?" She asked, unable to determine herself with the way the creature was curled in on itself.

"Fourteen feet, seven inches. Measured last spring," The keep answered. His lip curled at the memory of nearly losing a few fingers.

Her eyebrows went up. It was certainly a little more than what she expected to take on. A voice in the back of her mind wondered Harry would think of it. Would he laugh and shake his head at the irony? Certainly, Ron would tell her she had gone mental.

No, a part of her knew deep down that Harry would be just as unsettled by it as she was. Yet, she was the one standing there asking the owner how long it had been for sale.

"Since the Battle of Hogwarts," He drawled out. "Found him clearing out the rubble on High Street, near Dervish and Banges." He didn't bother explaining what happened to the owners like many residents in Hogsmeade. It wasn't needed.

"But that was four years ago!" She turned to him sharply at that.

The owner stared at her, clearly missing the point.

"That's a long time to keep him for sale," She said delicately, while not being a fan of the concept, but knowing what typically happened to animals or familiars that stayed in a shop too long. Muggle or magical, some things weren't that different.

"It's a very rare species," He reaffirmed in a tone that suggested he quickly decided she was too dull to consider as a serious customer.

* * *

Like every problem she encountered, she pulled every book she could find on St. Lucian Silverscales.

An owl order later, she found had three spread out on her coffee table.

A rainy afternoon later, she knew what they ate, how long they lived and their preferred climate. They were a magically resilient ancestor of the boidae family she concluded.

* * *

"How old is he?" She asked Rabastan. The shop owner had begrudgingly divulged his name after the second visit. Whether he was amused or irritated by the reoccurring visits from the intrigued fair featured woman, he confessed neither in the twitching of his features. He certainly made no comment to his rather famous guest.

"Why don't you try asking him?" He snapped out.

Apparently today he was irritated.

Hermione sighed and looked back to the giant creature. Had he not changed positions between visits, she wasn't sure if he was actually alive. Each time he was always still, eyes closed. Except this time, she caught a twitch in his tail. An impatient twitch, she imagined.

"He doesn't make for much company, does he?" She mused aloud in a soft voice, addressing the serpent directly for the first time.

Onyx eyes opened with such a depth she couldn't tell if they were looking at her or blankly at the protective glass in front of her. Briefly, it's lower jaw parted and its body shimmered in the most movement she had ever seen from the creature. The shudder caused the silver scales of its namesake to glitter in the limited candle light.

Hermione grinned, even as it closed its eyes once more. If a snake could sigh, she mused, this would be the one.

* * *

She wasn't sure what kind of company a snake would make either while she read the same text on care of Silverscales over again that night. A reptile terrarium for a snake that size would take up most of her living room, but apparently most owners didn't bother she found out. Unlike their non-magical cousins, they were a little more tolerant of cooler climates and docile as long as they were well fed.

The idea of feeding it live food made her hesitate a few more days.

* * *

"Miss, you are not here to purchase. I must insist you leave," Rabasten snarled at her when she stepped into the shop that day.

"Who's to say I'm not here to buy the St. Lucian?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow at the elderly wizard, quite use to the disgruntlement that he called charm.

"Who's to say it's for sale?" He snapped back, watching the brunette pass through the familiar aisles to the back of the store.

"Oh please," She huffed with a roll of her eyes. "In the weeks I've been here, no one has shown any interest." Apparently snakes didn't make for as popular pets these days, all things considered.

Rabasten growled, "It's a very _rare_ species."

Rare as in expensive, she realized.

The condescending tone in his tone told her all she needed to know. Clearly he thought a witch that wore tattered jeans and a worn out sweater did not have the refined tastes to afford such a creature.

Her eyes narrowed at him and she bristled.

He didn't know that this witch didn't back down from a challenge or leave a problem without a solution. This particular witch of modest dress didn't like to indulge in the gold minted condolences of the Ministry often, but decided in that moment a withdrawal from Gringotts was in order.

"I'll take him," She answered confidently, lifting her chin.

The shocked widening of the old man's eyes was the most honest reaction she had from him yet. It caused her to smirk. While the man began to sputter at length about fund authorizations and gathering the necessary magical species ownership declaration forms, she looked back at the snake.

Unlike all the other times it spent sleeping and ignoring the presence of others, opaque black eyes stared back at her. Its head was pulled back, risen to almost eye level with her, watching her.

"How would you like to get out of here?" She asked of it gently, pressing her fingertips against the glass.

Its tong flickered out, almost in what she thought was an appreciative manner. Its body began to shift and coil. She knew, how she wasn't sure yet, but she knew this creature was more intelligent than the shop owner gave it credit for.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A plot bunny hopped into my head and I haven't been able to shake it. This is my first HP fic, despite being a fan since I was a child, so please be kind. I will try to keep chapters short, almost drabbles. No promises on update schedule, I'll update as often as the urge strikes me. Which will probably be often. I've also taken some artistic liberties the lore and all, such as the fictional snake species mentioned. I'll be tweaking other things in the storyline as I go. I'll explain things as needed, like what happened after the war, what's up with Harry, Ron, etc. Feel free to message if you're curious. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	2. Chapter 2

She could have sworn the snake she bought in Knockturn Alley was not the one delivered to her shop in Hogsmeade.

There wasn't much that got her chest fluttering with a nerves these days, other than the rush from cracking a new lead in one of her case studies. However, the day that the delivery crate arrived outside Peculiar Picks was one of them. Admittedly, Peculiar Picks was not the cleverest name she has ever come up with. Even the brightest witch of her age had shortcomings. However, given the typical wizarding tradition of naming shops after familial connections, she had no family to commemorate. And there quite simply was not enough room on the storefront to honor all the ones she lost along the way.

In her excitement, she wasted no time levitating the massive crate carefully through the doorway into the shop. The sign already flicked Closed to the outside world. A flick of her wand and locking wards of the shop kicked in to keep out unwanted visitors.

She could hear him shifted around in the box anxiously as she lowered the box onto the open floor space near the front of the store. Hermione frowned, knowing what came next to open the crate. She found it a bit morbid when Rabasten explained the terms of delivery, but she had to admit it was secure.

She pressed the tip of her wand against her thumb. A faint green glow and locked jaw later, the first few drops of blood beaded up. She pressed the bloodied thumb against the seal of Adriadne Spinner on the crate lid. The arachnid logo absorbed the blood, giving a hiss before the latch of the crate kicked loose. The symbol dissolved into the wood, giving no other open indication to where it came from. Hermione paid it no attention because she was more preoccupied with the rush of movement that came as soon as the lid gave.

"Hey!" She yelped, jumping back and avoiding the lunging snap.

Whether it was a half-hearted attempt or just blind, it was too close for her comfort. "It's just me, relax!" She frowned at the angry black eyes staring back at her. The snake's body turned and coiled, like the waves of a rippling ocean. While he had been quiet and lethargic in the shop before, she was aware of just how much energy and power resided in the creature now.

He hissed and did not waste another second in the crate.

Hermione backed up several more steps to give it room, but also stayed out of strike range. For the first time, she began to fully appreciate just how large the snake was, seeing it spread out on her shop floor and hearing the wood creak under its slithering weight.

 _Go figure_ , she thought bitterly, the most animated she had seen it yet and it looked like it was ready to swallow her whole.

"Calm down, would you?" She held her hands with open palms. Her wand was still woven between her fingers, but she wasn't foolish enough to put it down.

The snake gave her an opened mouth hiss, flashing rows of small teeth amongst pale flesh. It wasn't the type of snake that killed you with its bite, she knew.

"You know, I get it," She huffed out, a little bit memorized at how the snake kept its stare on her. It wasn't searching for a way out and trying to flee. "I would be a little upset too, if I were taken from my warm bed, shoved into a box and jostled around like a baby's rattle. But don't take it out on me!"

For an insane moment, she almost thought the snake quieted down long enough to listen to her.

She lifted her foot to take a step.

An angry hiss rippled through the air and she set it right back down.

Her heel barely flitted off the floor before being greeted with a renewed fury, but neither approached each other.

"Really? Come on!" She placed her hands on her hips while the snake switch backed on itself to rise a little higher. "You can't tell me you honestly enjoyed being in that horrible place. I saw what it was like. You'll be lucky if you don't have mouth rot or parasites, if you don't already. Which Merlin help me if you don't even let me near you..." Her voice trailed off long after the hissing stopped.

Dark eyes with a hint of charcoal glittering from the lights stared unblinkingly.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the next anxiously. The action alone caused the serpent to tense once more.

"Fine!" She let out a sigh. "I'm going upstairs," She announced. "When you're done with your little fit, come up and I'll show you where you'll be living."

This time when she took a step backwards, the snake remained still. The only movement was the turn of his head while she went for the circular stair case in the back corner of the store.

"And don't touch my books!" Her voice called out as she went. "I mean it…Some of them are quite dark," She added on, knowing some was quite a bit of an understatement and the Ministry would be less than impressed. She left the door to her flat open behind her.

* * *

It took the better part of an hour before she heard the snake get over its sulking, as she thought it. She knew when she heard its body sliding up the stairs, causing them to creak one step at a time. It was a different sound than the pets she had grown up listening to. It wasn't the scratching of nails or pampering of paws, but a steady friction and lumbering.

She kept half an eye on the snake as it took to exploring her flat above the shop, testing the boundaries of the walls and sliding under furniture. She kept her bedroom door shut firmly. Despite the advocates of free range living in the books she ordered, even she had her limits and the bedroom was the first.

She kept to the kitchen while it was exploring the living room and found herself sitting on the couch in the living room while it explored the kitchen. She barely noticed the text of the observation report in her hands while she kept half an eye on its location the rest of the day.

Eventually, it found the nest of blankets and cushions she had setup near the bay window. She knew it would be grateful for the location tomorrow when the morning sun came through the glass on that spot. The snake slipped into the blankets, not quite disappearing from sight completely, but she didn't see those black eyes again the rest of the day.

* * *

She checked her bedroom door to make sure it was locked twice that night. Silly, she knew, to not just shut the door but lock it. But after living alone with no other presence for so long, her nerves were afire.

* * *

The task of feeding her new companion came the next morning when the delivery from Magical Menagerie arrived.

The scratch of her quill against parchment was interrupted by the tapping of the glass at the living room bay window. The owl gave an anxious hoot, eager to be rid of the package it carried. While she went over to the window, Hermione noticed from the corner of her eye the sneak rustling in the blankets.

A weary, almost irritated set of eyes watched her as she took the package into the kitchen.

A morbid thought came to her, wondering if she should warn her co-workers and friends that their owls to start delivering downstairs. However, her concern was eased when the snake followed after her towards the kitchen instead of the bird now fluttering away.

Hermione grimaced at the shrunken dead rats inside the package. Silently, she was grateful she wouldn't have to do this every day or even all that often compared to care for other creatures. She grabbed a tray from a cabinet, chancing a glance towards the snake that didn't quiet cross the threshold of the kitchen, but very much watched her movements.

"I'm going to have to come up with a name for you," She mused allowed while she flicked her wand over one rat. It expanded back to its normal from its postage friendly size form.

"At first, I was thinking something to do with your scales," She continued. Another wave and a second rat grew. "They're quite magnificent when the light catches them so."

Whether the hiss that answered her was from impatience at the time it was taking to prepare his meal or the musing of his name, Hermione went with the latter.

"You're right," She smirked in her own amusement. "Anything glittery doesn't seem to suit you." After his temperament yesterday, she was half of mind to call him Foultooth.

"I was thinking maybe Anguis," She announced, letting the name roll around on her tongue slowly, expanding the last rat on the tray and tossing the remains of the package.

An even louder angry hiss followed her.

"Well, unless you come up with something better," She huffed while setting the tray down on the floor. "Anguis it's going to be."

She didn't stick around to watch a hungry snake feed. Instead, she carefully stepped around him to head downstairs. The reptile didn't even look her way, already advancing on the recently deceased buffet left waiting. She shut the door to her flat behind her and went downstairs to follow up a few owl inquiries left for her.

* * *

A few hours and scheduling of appointments later, Hermione advanced up the stairs to grab something to drink. While she was musing the idea of coffee, she opened the door and almost about the serpent now residing with her within.

Instead, she took one step in before letting out a strangle shriek.

"Merlin, ugh!" Her expression twisted in disgust. She knew that that snakes could get a little bit messy, but she wasn't expecting the rodent massacre across the living room, which included a few clumps of flesh and once white fur amongst crimson streaks.

Her eyes followed it and her body stilled. The serpent sat still as a Muggle portrait, basking in the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. She barely paid it any attention while her mind processed the crossing path that the first bloody smear ran into it. A looping, but jagged circle followed the second, ending in a crooked weave of strokes. Some parts were thicker, heavier than others before thinning out in the direction the snake now lumbered.

Hermione blinked rapidly. Not seeing the bloodied smears across her floor anymore, realizing the odd shapes were not the thrashing indulgence of a predator but letters. Three simple letters.

"Tom," She read aloud, barely a whisper on her lips.

The snake's chin lifted in her direction.

Such a simply ordinary name for a familiar that she was beginning to believe could be anything but. "Tom," She murmured again, looking fully at the serpent.

The corners of her lips picked up. "Your name is Tom," She decided that moment. She couldn't put her finger on why exactly the name struck her so. Maybe it was the peculiarity of the situation.

A flicker of a forked tongue answered her.

She shut the door behind her and took out her wand to clean up the mess. Before she could mutter the incantation to clean away the red stain, her brow suddenly furrowed in thought.

"And you _understand_ me," She realized with a chill.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the follows and reviews! Seeing the positive response motivated me to write some more. Slow build up to this story, but that's how I prefer it. Why Hermione is living alone with a shop full of dark books will be explained soon among other things. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom was a name that rolled off her lips easily. Just as she found it was calming to have company that listened rather than spoke. For once, someone wasn't asking her what it was like during the war. They weren't blabbering on about their sorrow for her losses. He didn't ask her how she was feeling. Dark eyes watched her movements with calculation, not as if she was something broken.

She would bid him good morning when she wrestled with the coffee maker. Some things were best done the Muggle way. She would bid him good night when her eyes began to squint and struggle to stay focus from staring at her parchment too long. She made comments to him while going through her post, rolling her eyes the rubbish the Prophet always printed.

The first few days, he didn't move much from the nest of blankets. Absently, she wondered what Molly would think of where all her knitted monstrosities had gone to. She wasn't concerned about Tom then. She knew it would take several days to digest his welcome home meal.

It was days that ran by quickly afterwards that Hermione slowly started to become concerned that her familiar was a little more unusual than most.

* * *

She noticed the papers weren't where she left them when she came up from the shop after the evening shift.

None of the papers were missing she realized. Like a gust of breeze went through the room, the papers were spread, but she knew that wasn't the case.

It wasn't like there were paw prints over them or they were used as a litterbox while she was gone. It was simply that pile of recent observations from a Mutatio Skullus victim at St. Mungo's. Even she knew the outlook was bleak for this one.

"Tom," She spoke in a warning tone, glancing to the pair of eyes watching her movements. "Stay off the coffee table."

Briefly, she wondered if she should put up some furniture repellant charms, but between the shop and her consulting she quickly forgot about that fleeting thought.

* * *

"What? _Why_?" Her voice was so incredulous it practically came out as a whine. Hermione frowned at the jagged grooves in the hard plastic.

It was one of the rare evenings she took a break to turn on the television. It was crammed into the corner of her living room, next to the fireplace and opposite the couch and her bookshelf. Granted, she knew she wasn't around the flat much in the days leading up to the Mutatio Skullus victim's passing and the flat must have been boring.

But to chew on the television remote, really? She shook her head, chancing a glare down at her feet while her companion hid under the couch. The thin wisp of his tail was the only giveaway.

He could've at least not broken the number two button.

* * *

His namesake scales reminded her of pearls, she mused one day. Even in the darkness, they gleamed like exposed bone. They stole her thoughts while watching the pearlescent flutter in the sunlight.

* * *

Her shoulders tensed up stiffly the first time he slithered up the armrest while she was sitting on the couch. She had taken a break from her usual research for a bit light reading on Welsh runes. She kept the book in her mind lap while her hand moved to her wand under the blanket. It was more of a reflexive reaction to the uncertainty than anything else.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tom slide up the armrest and along the back of the couch. Her head hunched a little closer to the book while he passed close to her. She remained still, wondering what he would do. The movements stopped and she mentally counted to fifteen in her head before chancing a glance over her shoulder.

Onyx met chocolate, but she wasn't sure if he was looking at her or lazily observing the room from his new perch.

With a stiff exhale she went back to reading. Four pages later, her breathing was steady and smooth. Twelve pages later, the tension eased out of her shoulders. Thirty-four pages later, she was too engrossed and forgot all about Tom next to her. Somewhere after eighty-seven pages, she fell asleep with the book clutched to her chest. When she woke, Tom was back in his nest.

* * *

She knew that familiars often understood the directions given by their owners. Hedwig undoubtedly had a bond like no else with Harry. Crookshanks, for all Ron's complaining, had a better judge of rodent character than all the Weasley's.

But she frequently wondered if Tom understood more than most.

* * *

"I have a client coming in to look at tomb in twenty minutes," Hermione checked her wrist watch while she was fluttering between her bedroom and the kitchen.

Tom lifted his chin as the flustered witch hesitated between pulling her hair back and trying to tame the wild mane.

"Stay out of my papers while I'm gone," She warned him, pausing at the door. She didn't even need to look up at him to know he watched her. "I mean it this time!"

His stare always caused the goosebumps on her forearms to prickle.

* * *

The final confirmation came in the middle of a storm less night. The prickling sensation along her forearms raced up to her shoulders, rousing her from her sleep. It wasn't the sensation of being watched, but fierce persistent warning of her magic being tampered with.

Hermione threw off the bed covers and grabbed her wand from under her pillow. Quietly, she padded over to her bedroom door. Bracing herself, she held her wand up and advanced into the living room, where her senses told her the breach was occurring.

Instead of finding an intruder or having to dodge a curse, her flat was silent save the faint hum of the appliances in the kitchen. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, the only light being cast from the moonlights splintered across the living room. It was enough for her to make out the form of Tom in front of her bookshelf. His head bobbed back and forth, nosing against the first shelf full of books.

To the ignorant eye, she reminded me of the way she remembered seeing small corn snakes trying to climb the side of cages at the Muggle pet store. A hypnotic calming, repetitive motion she had thought at the time.

She knew better at this point than to believe this serpent in her flat was simply trying to find a higher vantage point.

"I put a blood ward on that bookshelf," She announced in a low, but firm tone. The swaying movements stopped, but she kept her wand up.

"I'm the only one that can touch its contents," She clarified. The way those eyes gleamed at her would've chilled a Dementor. "Willingly only," She added, still rather proud of her creative modification.

Her eyes wandered up the bookshelf. The bottom two shelves were full of texts of assorted languages and ages, but similar in subject. If the Ministry knew, they would certainly give pause on whether or not to turn the other cheek. The contents of the top shelf would surely be confiscated. Without a doubt, they would disappear into the Department of Mysteries and the secret to fully understanding them never to be seen.

To a stranger, it was an assortment of tarnished trinkets, each wrapped in a crystalline square case. Some were shattered, some appeared burned. The only abused book in the entire building among them.

Without another word, she turned and shut her bedroom door firmly behind her. The ward didn't tingle for the rest of the evening.

She still remembered the last time someone tried to touch one.

* * *

"Blimey, Mione!" Ron yanked his hand back, waving it around in the air to take away the sting. "Your furniture just bit me!"

Hermione shook her head while rooting around in the cupboards for another Sober Up potion. It was a small electrical shock to remind him not to touch. It was all about the intent. If he had meant to steal from her, it would've been much worse. But she was too bleary eyed from being woken up abruptly at the god awful hour.

"I still don't understand why you keep these things," His expression was quite serious when she emerged from the kitchen. If it wasn't for the sway in his steps, she almost thought he didn't need the potion.

"I've told you, Ron. It's for my research," She sighed, reminding herself how many times someone needed to hear a piece of information before accepting it as fact.

"Why can't you… just, I don't know, go to the library?" He suggested weakly while accepting the potion. That's what Hermione always used to do, find a book. Not get directly involved.

She just gave him a dry look while he knocked back the cringe worthy concoction that could induce sobriety from the taste alone. It hadn't taken Ron long after she moved to Hogsmeade to figure out that he could stump up from the Three Broomsticks, beg for a potion and Apparate home to avoid the ire of Lavender. Hermione never turned him away, despite how irritated or grumpy she would be.

"They're not exactly something you find even in the Restricted section," She answered him finally, watching the somberness settle into him the longer he looked at them, a cracked locket in particular.

"But haven't they done _enough to us_?" He muttered, not much more than a whisper.

He was of sound enough mind to know that Harry would go mental if he knew she was sleeping, eating and living next to those things. He valued his own hide too much to tell him.

* * *

"We need to figure out a way to talk," She declared the morning after ward alarm went off. She sat down with determination, crossing legs in front of Tom's next of blankets. She could see his body curving in and out of them, but she wasn't sure where he began and ended.

"Come on, Tom," She persisted, holding two pieces of parchment. A large _Yes_ and _No_ were written across them. It wasn't much, but it was a starting point. "I know you can hear me in there," She almost sing song.

An agitated hiss came from the wool.

"Oh, don't sulk," She shushed him. "It dulls your scales."

She startled when his head popped up, glaring quite angrily at the brunette. "Ah, there you are," She ignored it with a smirk. His broad head curved in a way that she was sure he was always frowning at her.

"I really think figuring out a way for us to talk would be beneficial for both of us," She said in a matter of fact tone. "But…" She hesitated, "I'm obviously not a Parseltongue." While she spoke, she casually held the two pieces of paper out in front of her, one in each hand. "And the only one I know already has a toddler and another one on the way. Subjecting him to your temper would just be cruel," She added on with a cheeky grin.

Serpentine temperament aside, she just didn't want to bring up bad memories for him. Things were hard enough.

"So speaking is something I'll have to work on," She chewed her bottom lip. Another puzzle, something a little less morbid to study for a change. Her eyes flitted back up to the ever still creature, "But you can read. That I'm sure of."

Tom tilted his head, still hovering in front of her.

"That's really unusual for a familiar, you realize?" She mused aloud, her eyes narrowing a little on him, observing him. She never heard of a familiar that intelligent. Even Hedwig still had to be told who to deliver a letter to, despite the names written on the envelope. "But you're something else, aren't you?" She whispered softly.

An open mouth hiss, almost snarl, reminded her just how close she was leaning in.

Hermione sat up straight, stiffly, forcing her thoughts back to the objective at hand. "How did you learn to read?" She wondered. "Was it your previous owners? I could only imagine how handy that must be, but how did they do it! A charm wouldn't last, maybe – _Tom_!" She startled at the lunge.

The snake sat back with a crumpled mess of parchment its teeth, a swirl of irritation in his irises.

She took a moment to calm her hammering heart, eyeing the distorted _No_ in his teeth. "Well," She exhaled. "You don't have to get in a snit about it." She reached forward carefully for the paper, feeling it crumble under her thumb but not breaking eye contact. She had hoped that he would point or indicate, not almost maul her.

"Give it," She demanded of him. A slight tug and he didn't budge. She raised a thin eyebrow at him, "Now."

Begrudgingly, the paper slipped from his mouth and Hermione stashed it to her side.

Apparently literature was a sore subject, or he just wasn't that impressed with this whole interaction. Hermione's expression furrowed in contemplation while the silence settled between them. The blankets shifted and his head bobbed, but Tom didn't back away.

Seconds, maybe minutes passed before she spoke again in a hush that flickered like a coy breeze. "If I found a way for us to speak to each other," She wondered. "Would you allow me?"

Tom regarded her carefully, giving no indication he understood her words.

Unlikely easy. Probably forbidden. Likely venturing into something twist. But damn it all, she was the brightest witch of her age for a reason. And the first in a while, she didn't want to do it by herself.

"I…" She realized, before finding words to the feeling and correcting herself, "We don't have to be alone, Tom."

She held her breath when he moved forward, not in a swift attack, but a reserved lean. His nose brushed against the remaining piece of parchment between them.

 _Yes._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Wow! Thanks for the love and support last chapter. It made my day and I had to put this chapter together. Thank you, SlackerbyChoice! Less is more is definitely the way I prefer to write this one. It's also part of why I'm focusing mostly on Hermione and Tom. Other characters will make appearances, but the focus of this story is their dynamic. Pieces and puzzles of hers and his life will come together bit by bit like this chapter. As you can guess by now, the aftermath of the war isn't the storybook happy ever after and it's something I enjoy exploring. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Surely, this is something Mr. Potter would be able to help you with?" McGonagall held the piece of parchment in her hand as if it spat in her tea.

Hermione didn't really know where to begin researching how to communicate with familiars. She figured starting with Parseltongues would be a good place, which made her think of the first book she read about them in her second year. Admittedly, it didn't tell her much, but she remembered the scribble footnote of a reference to another. It led to an owl and an appointment with the fond Headmaster. The Latin inscription of the very much restricted text title was in front of her now.

"Ginny's due in a few months," She answered mechanically, knowing the excuse for what it was.

The Headmaster's frown deepened.

"I don't want to bother Harry for something so trivial," Hermione sighed, having a weakness for the truth when it came to her favorite Transfiguration professor. "I'm just looking for a better way to communicate with my new familiar."

Rather than be appeased, the Headmaster's eyes gave a startled widening. "You choose a snake as a familiar?" She gasped, briefly wondering where the little girl with knitted hats and socks chasing after house elves went. Instead, a grown woman hardened by suffering and pain narrowed her eyes on her now.

"A witch as bright as yourself can understand the sort of perception you're creating," McGonagall tried to allude diplomatically.

Hermione's lips drew into a thinner line. Of course, she understood the nasty stereotype surrounding snakes and Parseltongues, but she didn't think it warranted the reproach she was receiving now.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Professor," She disagreed in a carefully controlled tone.

McGonagall's features softened sympathetically. "We barely see you around Hogsmeade, dear," She explained without giving away the ' _we_ ', but Hermione could garner a guess. "To choose the company of a snake… spending all your time in that store of rather dark subjects," She shook her head. It didn't take the Headmaster long to notice that shortly after the shop opened, it was closed every time the students had a weekend visit. Whether it was because Hermione didn't want to deal with over anxious third years or expose young impressionable children to such matters, she never quite knew.

Hermione bristled at the mention of her books. An argument she had heard time and time again. "Those books help me with my work," She snapped out. "How can I be expected to counter curses if I don't understand the magic that created them?"

The Headmaster nodded immediately. "It's not your work," She clarified. "It's your _research_."

Hermione's head jerked back as if she had been slapped. "Who told you about that?" She hissed. " _Ron_?"

Of course, she should have known that he would blab it to someone.

McGonagall raised a hand to try to calm her, avoiding her question. "I simply ask because we haven't seen you at an Order meeting in quite some time," She replied.

"I was gone this spring," She ground out defensively. "I went to America to help Worcester State, remember?" Honestly, it wasn't like St. Mungo's had the only patients afflicted by dark curses. She didn't have to time to be chasing down the few remaining scattered Death Eaters and nearly forgotten war criminals. Her last word came out biting because she knew full well she had alerted her friends after getting the international portkey as soon as she could at the time.

"With all due respect, Professor," She cut off whatever response the Headmaster was struggling with.

Maybe all the time in her shop, bartering with purebloods over acquisitions of questionable texts was leaving her short on patience to dance around the real issue.

"That book is about the origin of speaking to snakes in Europe," Hermione gestured back to the source of the confrontation. "You and I both know that it has nothing to do with horcruxes."

At that word, the sputtering of portraits above them told her that too few of them were sleeping and far too many were keenly listening.

McGonagall balked, "I don't mean to –"

"I believe," A third raspy voice interrupted from above, causing all heads in the room to turn. "that Minerva does not wish to accuse, Miss Ganger, but merely to caution," spoke the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

A hush fell over the other portraits while he continued.

"For we are of no doubt your intelligence and wisdom, brightest of your age so I hear," His eyes twinkled in his own amusement, but his words carried the authority. "And we know that you would pursue no avenue without cause or purpose."

He looked over the rim of his glasses, his voice dropping lower. "But remember, no matter what perception is conceived and what path you choose, however it may stray… Remember, there are those, _many_ of those, who love you and help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

Even the lump in her throat couldn't keep her earlier defensiveness bottled up any longer. Her shoulders sagged visibly, trying to let go of the tension.

"Thank you, Professor," She answered him gently, still holding admirable respect for the deceased headmaster. Hermione looked back to McGonagall, feeling a flicker of guilt twinge in her stomach.

"I'll try to come to the next meeting," She gave in finally.

The Headmaster pursed her lips in something torn between a grimace and a grin. Nonetheless, she turned to her desk and produced the permission note for the alumni to visit the library, including the Restricted section.

"I trust you still remember the way," She held the note out mirthfully.

"Of course," Hermione didn't quite manage a grin, but wasted no time bidding her good day and turning on her heel.

The Headmaster frowned at her thoughtfully as she disappeared down the gargoyle staircase. After the steps stopped turning and the room fell silent save to the mutterings of the portraits, one of them spoke up louder than the rest.

Armando Dippet turned to his successor, "That one worries me, Albus."

* * *

"Honestly, you should have seen it, Tom!" She stabbed her fork stubbornly into her green beans that night. Tom lingered not too far away from her feet. She noticed that he seemed to follow her a little more closely now that it was no secret he could read over her shoulder and understand what she said. Every time she thought about the conversation in the Headmaster's office, her nose wrinkled up in irritation.

"She was looking at me like if I was the next Dark Lord," She shook her head. "Lady, rather," correcting herself. "All because I wanted to talk to a snake… and some other things," She grumbled, not even being completely dishonest to herself, but that wasn't the point!

A brush against her bare ankle caused both feet to jump up with a yelp. She paused her vegetable assault to look under the table and point a threatening finger. "Don't taunt me, or I swear I will hex you up sideways," She only half seriously threatened.

Sitting back up straight, she added on smugly, "And then you wouldn't hear what I found."

She heard him slithering around under the table. A few moments later, his head popped up on the opposite corner of the table. With a soft thud, he dropped his chin against the cool top, pale under flesh splaying out.

Hermione began to giggle before she could help herself. Pouting puppy dog eyes if she could ever imagine them.

* * *

The trip to the Hogswart Library didn't actually give her all the answers she wanted. The book in the Restricted section ended up being little more than the rambling thoughts of Slytherin heir obsessed fanatic. Honestly, she had seen more coherent ideas and less run on sentences in the Quibbler. However, it did make mention to a coven in Salem noted for using familiars to spy on their enemies. Naturally, they developed a means of communicating that ill-gotten information to their masters.

With that tidbit of information, she floo'd a colleague at the New Salem Institute. A week later a new text arrived through secure post. She was gratefully it hadn't been confiscated along the way. One thing she discovered during her brief American stay was the censorship laws were much more lenient than the Ministry.

"This one might actually work," She mused a few nights later while Tom looked over her shoulder. She didn't comment on his tendency to make himself comfortable along the back of the couch while she read.

It surprised her that a potion showed more promise than a spell, but it seemed intriguing enough. "It'll take some time to brew this," Her eyes darted over the instructions and frowned at the ingredients. "And these are not easy to procure… but I think I can get them."

"There's an antidote too," Her eyebrows raised when she found it a few pages later. She frowned as she read through it. This potion took a little longer to brew than the first, but she was grateful the effects could be temporary.

"I better make this one too," She decided. "Merlin help me if I go through all this trouble to just hear you complain all the time about shedding."

A low, but not particularly intimidating hiss lingered in her ear.

* * *

It took a few weeks to gather the ingredients. Most of them had been readily available, but a few took special orders. One required a letter of intention to the Ministry for the Haitian bloodroot. However, it was the Albanian flesh eating wurmpowder that required a personal visit to the Ministry to clear it through customs and collect the package. For some reason, they were wary about letting the infectious volatile substance into the region. She couldn't imagine why.

She almost resented Tom for the amount of gawking and hero worship she endured that trip. Did she mention she didn't like crowds either?

For the weeks after that, she sacrificed the small breakfast table in the kitchen and cooking in general for her impromptu potions lab. First she started on the antidote before a second cauldron joined it. She spent less time in the flat and more time eating out or downstairs organizing the shop.

Tom was more aggressive than usual during this time. Although, she suspected that had more to do with the barrage of scents spewing from the cauldrons. She took pity on him and left the flat door open for him to come down while she was working downstairs. For the most part he stayed out of her way, but she shooed him away from certain bookcases on more than one occasion.

* * *

The last ingredient was the least pleasant to obtain.

"I need your blood," She announced after using her wand to heal a cut across her own. The drops bubbled away, turning the concoction a deep velvety royal shade.

Tom gave a protesting hiss from his retreat in the living room.

She just rolled her eyes at his. "Relax," She picked up the small blade on the counter. "I just need a few drops, I'm not going to gut you."

Just because she had explained this to him before he didn't mean he wasn't going to be difficult. It took quite a bit of hissing and spitting before she made the small incision needed. She didn't part from Tom before he took a swipe at her. She was grateful the thick sweater she wore kept his teeth from sinking into flesh. However, it was enough pressure to certainly leave a bruise.

* * *

About an hour later, she spent a significant time pouring over the coven text, checking, double and triple checking the potions. Consistency, color, texture, and aroma… of it appeared to match the description. She admitted it wasn't as difficult as brewing Draught of the Living Dead, but she was nervous about the idea of consuming it nonetheless.

"I think it's ready," She announced to Tom, who had taken to stretching out in loops on the couch cushions. His head was propped lazily on the armrest, watching her brew the final evening way.

She tried to keep her hands steady while she filled a vial. She eyed the deep purple liquid that was thick as sludge apprehensively. She hesitated, almost expecting weeks of preparations to amount to something more climatic. But it was just silent in her flat, save for the occasional pop of a potion bubble from lingering residual heat.

"Well," She looked over at Tom, those onyx eyes staring blankly at her. "Cheers," She said weakly before bringing the vial to her lips.

The potion barely touched her tongue before she felt herself gag. She had to clamp her other hand over her mouth to keep herself spitting it back out. With tears pricking in her eyes, she forced herself to swallow it. Polyjuice felt like pumpkin juice after that.

Even after she swallowed it down, the foulness lingered. If anything, she felt like the decaying must grew stronger in her mouth.

Long after it passed, she didn't feel any different. No flashes of light or earth shattering revelations. No tingling her in skin or hairs raising on the back of her neck.

If anything, she just felt a low hum in her ears, like pressure building. She rolled her jaw open instinctive and it gave with a soft crack.

" _I hope that tasted half as revolting as it smelled… Serves her right, manhandling me like pocket posies…"_

Hermione's back went ramrod straight. She barely even registered that she had hunched over the table to begin with. Her eyes darted around, wondering where the deep baritone came from. The masculine voice purred in a manner that could make her toes curl, even with the distaste that dripped like an acidic flow.

" _Hmmmm… she is quite pale, dare say, turning green…"_

Hermione blinked in confusion. Where was that man's voice coming from? One glance around and she couldn't see anyone in her flat. Yet, it felt like he was standing right beside her. Like she could just lean in a little to feel his breath on her ear.

" _Oh lovely, she's gone and poisoned herself… if she drops, it'll be weeks before the body is found. If they can even get through her tenacious wards…"_

The voice drawled on, an almost absent minded monologue. The sarcasm evident with only the faintest hint of interest.

"The wards would drop if I died," She instinctively corrected before she could help herself.

The voice stopped for painstakingly long moments and she almost longed to hear the smooth tones that rumbled like a lullaby.

" _Were those thoughts not such, but words?"_

The voice returned with a flicker of doubt.

Slowly, it dawned on her the only other living source in the room. She turned her head towards the snake, having almost expected a caricature of hissing raspy short words, but not the deep eloquent words hovering in her ears.

"Tom," She spoke uncertainly. The serpent had picked its head up with interest. "Was that… _you_?" She stared at him, seeing him in a manner she hadn't concerned. She watched the way it gave the slightest tilted of its head and nostrils flared minutely.

Her toes did curl a little bit when she heard the next beautifully simple words.

" _Hello, Hermione."_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** They're talking now, yeah! A bit of a time jumping around in this one, but I think we will all be happy they can talk now. Things will get very interesting now. Just a note, I won't always write Tom's speaking in italics, I just wanted to do it for this chapter. I also like my parallels and symbolism, so if you picked up on any, say so and I'll let you know if you're right. Thank you Cecelia the Green and flearambo, your encouraging words were the reason I posted this right away. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hermione… it hardly seems fair that you can hear my thoughts, but I can't hear yours."

She peered over her coffee mug at the sulking reptile, smirking behind the ceramic. "Nice try, Tom," She teased lightly. As long as she drank that potion once a month, she could hear him, but she was grateful he couldn't hear her. As much as she enjoyed hearing another voice fill the empty void of her flat, her suspicions about him were beginning to grow as well.

* * *

The first time Tom touched her without trying to scare her or anything that ended up in hissing was reading on the couch one day. She had a book propped up against her thighs while she leaned back against the armrest. Tom was stretched along the back of the couch, but she didn't pay him any attention. She had gotten used to it faster than she expected.

"Stop scratching," He interrupted her, a firm whisper near her ear.

Hermione blinked, then realizing the friction of fabric rubbing together was coming from her. "What?" She looked down when Tom's head advanced over her shoulder. She felt the chill of his breath against her fingertips before his nose was nudging them away.

"Oh," She realized ineloquently, seeing the inflamed letters staring back at her on her forearm, the sleeve bunched up. She only saw them a moment before Tom kept slithering past her. She stilled, unsure exactly what he was doing. He moved across her torso before looping back up the armrest. The weight of his body kept her arm pinned down her lap. It wasn't impossible to move him, but it would take an effort.

While she was considering that, she gave a small start when she felt his head rest against her shoulder, back where the whisper first came from. His scales were smooth and cool to the touch.

She didn't know what to expect to feel about having a rather large snake wrapped around her. Granted, it wasn't tight, just the weight down her front and on her shoulder. It wasn't like the Devil's Snarl that had entrapped her from foot to neck in her first year. But yet, this didn't frighten her as much as she thought it would.

"It's cursed," She mumbled, looking down at the forearm that was covered his diamond patterning. His cool temperature took away some of the sting. She tried to explain it was a curse that kept scar from ever healing properly after all these years and not her neurosis.

"I know," He replied curtly. "Now hush and let me finish this page."

Absently, her fingers stroked over his scales instead between pages.

* * *

She doubted he was a dull creature. She knew better than that.

Yet, his thoughts were not always as forthcoming as the Salem text had led her to believe. Hermione noticed there were long periods of time they spent in each other company, but she didn't hear even a straying thought from Tom. Not like the ones at the forefront of his mind the night she took the potion.

The text said she should be able to hear _all_ of her familiar's thoughts. Which also made the antidote necessary, she could only imagine the monotonous drawl some creatures would produce.

Tom wasn't one of them.

She began to wonder about taking a more direct approach to getting answers.

* * *

"You need to shorten your wrist flick," Tom interrupted the scratching of her quill.

"Excuse me?" Hermione sat up abruptly. She had been hunched over the coffee table drawing up notes for a recent case from St. Mungo's for so long, she forgot about the serpent lunging on the couch with her.

"If the movement is too exaggerated, you'll lose power. Shorten it," He thought.

Hermione glanced dubiously at Tom before furrowing her brows in thought at the photos of the wound. She had asked for both Muggle and magical images, just be sure she didn't miss anything. "But you'll hit the artery," She protested.

"No, you won't if it's done properly," Tom snapped, already sounding like he was regretting thinking aloud.

Hermione spent the next twenty minutes sparring with him over immobilizing the blood flow long enough to remove the second hex that had the victim had been hit with on a rebound without the flesh dying. By the end of the discussion, the margin of her notes were filled with several of Tom's comments. She couldn't just _not_ even consider them.

She was filled with excitement at considering another angle. But at the same time, her apprehension grew, crawling along her skin like ice.

Tom was no dull creature, not even by wizarding standards.

That night in the safety of her bedroom, which she still didn't allow him in, she started to make a list. Possibilities to explore and a household familiar was not on it.

* * *

She came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her and found him staring. Tom wasn't watching her. No, he was staring blankly in the living room from his nest of blankets.

And yet, she heard no thoughts.

She didn't believe there wasn't something brewing those stormy eyes. It caused her to pause in the hallway and follow his line of sight.

"Do you know what those are?" She asked, trying to keep her voice light and idle with a head nod towards the top shelf of her bookcase.

A shattered locket. A cracked cup. A burnt diadem. A broken ring. A punctured diary.

Tom picked his head up and turned towards her in a fluid glide.

"I have no idea, Hermione… Would you tell me?"

His voice was a purr, a coaxing innocent plea. But it was too smooth. Too mechanical, too perfect.

The goosebumps on her flesh had nothing to do with the air chill against her fresh cleanse. Hermione didn't answer him and quickly shut the bedroom door behind her. That day, she requested an international post to the High Witch at the Salem Institute, casually inquiring about time in her schedule for a friend.

* * *

Tom got the opportunity to witness the extent of the wards on her property a rainy afternoon when he was left alone. After the bookcase left his nose sore and sense of smell distorted for twelve hours, he didn't press his luck. This time, he didn't need to do anything himself. Hermione had left in a flurry when man with a boorish accent she simply called Oskar floo'd her. The bleeding heart wasted no time telling Tom she didn't know when she would return before rushing out, muttering about poor asylum care standards and Apparating away outside.

A flash of silver along the window pulled Tom out of his musings. At first he didn't see anything directly out of the window. After come careful maneuvering up the curtain, he was able to see down to the street below.

A glowing, but semi-transparent four legged creature darted back and forth along the street front. It went from corner to corner, disappearing around the bend a few times. It jumped up along the front windows, but slide back. Tom idly considered the peculiarity of watching a Patronus struggle to get into the building.

He had so rarely seen a Patronus, it was almost memorizing to watching the trailing wisps of white and silver light behind it. The stag was admirable, but he couldn't guess to who could produce such happiness.

His thoughts were interrupted by a choked crackling. He turned to the fireplace and saw a few green embers snap and die almost as quickly as they were lit. The darkness prevailed.

He knew the Floo was always shut off when Hermione wasn't here, but apparently someone was persistent.

Tom figured it was the same persistent person that sent the barn owl. It spent the better part of twenty minutes fluttering around the building in large loops, sometimes tapping at the glass but never settling. Eventually it flew off with the letter still tied to its leg.

* * *

When Hermione came home in the early hours of the morning reeking of disinfectant and tainted blood, Tom didn't say anything. He just watched her stumble aimlessly straight into the shower before collapsing within the confines of her bedroom.

* * *

"Hermione," Tom gently beckoned her attention

"Hm?" She acknowledged without looking up.

"Did you…" His voice faltered a little with hesitation, the curiosity winning. "Did you find a way to remove your magic trace?"

Hermione blinked, no longer seeing the book orders in front of her. She stood up from the register counter in her shop and glanced towards the snake curled up in the front window. Lately, he had been favoring warmth from the sun coming through the glass while she worked down there.

"What makes you ask that?" She avoid the question with genuine confusion.

"The owls," Tom thought innocently. "They delivered here… even when you're not."

"Oh," She sighed softly. Her fingers fiddled with the quill in her hands, not noticing the smear of black ink on them. She fretted how to answer him. It wasn't something she talked about, not even to her friends, who hadn't noticed. But none of them lived with her like Tom did and he clearly was clever.

"I read a Muggle article once about their computers and how they communicate to each other," She began uncertainly. Ever since she started attending Hogwarts, she lost touch with some Muggle technology and it seemed to develop faster than she could read. Nor did she know how much Tom would follow her. "The government, or really just anyone smart enough," She was disturbed by how simple it could be. "Can see, rather identify their computers. Not necessarily watch, per say, maybe…"

"Well, it just got me thinking," She didn't need to hear Tom's thoughts to know she was explaining it poorly. "I'm not sure how much I would really want the Ministry to know where I am. It used to be quite corrupt, you know?" _Still could be_ , she thought darkly.

"So yes, the owls get a little confused sometimes," She finally answered him.

Tom regarded her and for a moment she wished that he was something more expressive. She wondered what it would be like if he could smile. Would he frown at her right now?

"My clever, little witch…"

The thought was so faint, barely a whisper drawn away by a breeze, that she was sure she wasn't meant to hear it. It did terrible things to her stomach, knotting up to her chest in a flutter of uneasiness she hadn't felt in a long time.

She tried to banish those thoughts away. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" It was quite illegal went without say. Even she doubted she could use her good name to talk her way out of that one.

"There's no one else I could tell," He replied faintly.

Hermione frowned, not knowing what else to say. Her skin tingled, not from feeling threatened, but her instincts warned her. She looked back down to her papers and tried to focus on her forecasts.

The bell above the front door chimed and a gust of autumn air rushed in.

"We're closed today," Hermione announced without looking up. Two thuds against the wood told her it was only one visitor. "Come back tomorrow, hours are on the window," She gestured with her quill before finishing her sentence.

"Yes, I see that. 'Wednesday's – appointment only'," A masculine voice with a light gruff wasn't dissuaded by her dismissal. "I was rather hoping you could make one for your best friend."

Hermione's head popped up. Emerald eyes, a crooked grin with a mess of black hair greeted her.

"Harry!"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Wow! I'm so humbled by this fandom and the overwhelmingly positive response I got last chapter. I should've started writing HP fics sooner. Honestly, each of you that took the time to write a review, leave a follow or favorite, gave me incentive to get writing again. I'm very appreciative and flattered. Special thanks to flearambo, skyrosediamond, Liura Maeva, Cecelia the Green, xxabiiixx, Lity, HereToRead84, Mr. Riddle, Brittanya and Sarah! Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	6. Chapter 6

"Harry!"

The black-haired man stumbled back a step to keep from falling over at the rush of curls. The grin grew on his face in the bone crushing hug she gave him. No matter how long it had been since the last time they saw each other, this part was always the same. Like coming home. He almost forgot why he was upset with her now that he knew she was alive and well.

"Hermione, you scared us good this time," He chastised her, using a hand to stroke the back of her head, slash keep himself from swallowing some of the frizz. "Molly sent an owl, I sent a Patronus _and_ tried to Floo you."

She pulled back with wide eyes. "When?"

"Saturday."

Her expression grew pale, "Is everything okay? I got called to Hamburg. Some dolt tried to experiment a replicating Confringo with a sticking charm. It kept jumping onto anyone that got too close. It was quite horrific actually…" His voice trailed off when she saw Harry reach into his pocket and pull out a photo.

"Oh, Harry," She gasped when he held it out to her. Bright red hair stood out most in the photo, but Hermione paid no mind the waving tired and disheveled Ginny. Her eyes focused on the small bundle in her arms. A somewhat queasy Harry stood behind them.

"What's his name?" She asked.

"Albus," Harry grinned proudly. "Albus Severus Potter."

Hermione smiled, fingering the photo thoughtfully. "You didn't faint on Ginny again, did you?" She couldn't help herself.

Harry gave a sheepish look, flushing a little. "Maybe a little," He mumbled.

She gave a strained snort of a laugh before the tears started to prick at her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have missed this… I'm sorry, you must think awful of me."

Having always felt uncomfortable in the presence of a woman crying, Harry hurriedly pulled her back into another hug. "It's okay," He mumbled quickly. "I'm glad, we're glad you're okay… Make it up by coming over when they get released?"

He felt her nod against his shoulder and give a muffled acknowledgment. She clung to him tightly and he wondered if it had more to do than just guilt. His eyes flickered over towards the front window.

"Hermione?" He asked when he realized the silence had lingered on. "Yeah?" She replied next to his ear.

"You know there's a snake in your store, right?"

He had just about tripped over a cobblestone when he saw it walking up to the store. The same snake staring at the duo with an unblinking gaze.

"Oh," She nearly forgot about Tom and leaned back. Harry's hands slide down to her elbows, but kept a firm grasp. "That's my new familiar, Tom," She half turned in his direction.

"Familiar, right…" Harry's words were somber and tense. She could tell he was trying to keep it light, but his fingers dug in on her arms. "Sorry, I just thought you would get… I don't know, a cat," He looked back at her.

Hermione gave a half shrug. "I didn't want to try to replace Crookshanks," She said.

Harry's eyes were already back on Tom, his mouth set in a thin line. Neither of the two backed away or moved towards either other.

Awkwardness began to creep in.

"What day?" Hermione spoke up.

"Sorry?" Harry startled.

"What day will Gin and Albus be released from St. Mungo's?" She clarified.

"Oh right, tomorrow actually," He started and shook his eyes away from the snake. "Sorry, I just… that's a _really_ big snake, Hermione." Some of his boyish bashfulness showed through that she had grown up with.

She had to fight a smile until it died abruptly with his more serious words. "I haven't seen a snake that big since…"

"Nagini," She nodded, finishing for him.

"Yeah."

She bit her lip, feeling compelled to say more. She could tell he didn't get it. "Its part of the reason why I got him," She explained softly. "To prove I don't have to be afraid of some things anymore…" Maybe move on, finally.

Harry nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow. "You mind if I?" He surprised her, nodding towards Tom.

"Not at all." His hands slipped away and she wrapped her arms around herself while she watched Harry take a step towards Tom. The snake rose on its hunches, but didn't hiss or even flicker a tongue at him.

Harry paused, recognizing the challenge, but didn't press further. Instead, he looked intently at it features before trying the words unevenly, " _Hello, Tom. My name is Harry_."

It made her anxious to see someone converse with Tom and for the first time since she drank the potion, she wouldn't understand.

" _Harry Potter, yes…"_

Harry sighed. Great, he thought dryly, now he was famous even amongst the snakes. Add that to the list under house elves. The serpent's last word trailed off in a long syllable and he wondered if it was going to say more. It didn't. He thought long and carefully about the next question.

" _Is she safe with you?"_

Tom regarded him with just a flicker of his tongue. At first Harry thought he didn't understand the question and he didn't think he was going to get response until the words came out carefully.

" _As safe as she is with herself."_

Harry frowned deeply. What was that supposed to mean?

"What did he say?" Hermione's curiosity got the best of her.

Harry blinked and recovered his expression. He threw on a forced grin, "He just said he was hungry."

* * *

She made good on her promise and went to the Potter Cottage the next day. Welcoming the second time mother home ended up being a larger affair than she realized. All of the remaining Weasley's, their spouses and children, along with a few Order members were there.

Her throat was raw when she woke up from the nightmare that night. She realized she forgot to cast a _Muffliato_ when she opened the door to get a drink of water and found Tom coiled up anxiously in front of her.

"Hermione?"

She sighed with exhaustion. "I don't always sleep very well. Nightmares, a lot actually. I don't want to talk about it."

She closed the door abruptly and opted to skip the water.

* * *

If there was anything that ever nagged at her very existence and made her brain twitch, it was not having an answers. It made it hard to focus on the late night Muggle news, even with Tom wrapped over, under her tucked knees and around her torso.

"What are you?" She blurted out thoughtlessly.

"Itchy," Tom replied smoothly. His body gave a shimmer, trying to coax her fingers to move a little further down. She could tell that he was going to shed soon with the way he kept trying to coax her attention lately. She barely avoided getting bit when she dared to call him clingy earlier.

She gave a snort before obliging him.

She tried again during a commercial break. "I once kept a woman in a jar," She declared. Tom lifted his head from her shoulder to look at her more directly. The curiosity dripped through her thoughts. She wasn't sure how, but she occasionally got the faint sensation of some emotions without a word through his thoughts.

"She was an unregistered Animagus, a beetle. It's how she got all over her… inspiration. She kept writing all these nasty articles about me and Harry in the Prophet, so I captured her and blackmailed her," She finished with an unapologetic shrug.

There was a pause before Tom's laughter rippled through her like a bellow. It wasn't grating on her ears, but rather pleasant she admitted to herself. His laughter was much too seldom.

"You have quite a vicious streak, little witch."

 _You have no idea_ , she thought darkly. "What are you, Tom?" She persisted.

The laughter died down slowly. He didn't answer her not so subtle accusation, but she wasn't sure if he really needed to.

"I'm not sure anymore," He confessed, slowly rolling over each word and Hermione thought that was the most truth he had spoken yet.

She waited for him to explain more, but he never did.

* * *

" _Stupefy!"_

She wished she could say there was a pang of guilt when she stunned him that day, but it wasn't there. Her patience was growing thin and her frustration ate at her like a cancerous sore. Tom didn't know the spell had hit him. It came in the early morning while he was curled up in his nest of blankets.

She approached him carefully and gave a gentle prod with her wand, just to be sure he was really knocked out. She knew St. Lucian Silverscales were a little more resilient and eventually the spell would wear off so she had to work quickly. Carefully, she tucked some of the wool back so she could see his head, not wanting to move him too far from his position in case he woke.

" _Homenum Revelio!"_

Not even a twitch.

" _Specialis Revelio!"_

Nope.

" _Ostende te!"_

Nada.

" _Occulta indicare!"_

Nothing.

Hermione gave a groan of frustration. She moved to sit cross legged in front of Tom and rolled up her sleeves. Apparently it was going to take some deeper diagnostic spells for her to discover anything about him. She took a deep breath, holding her wand out over his body and got to work. Several tendrils of yellow and blue light oozed out of the tip and descended upon the snake.

A half an hour later and a thick layer of sweat gathered around her brow. Her teeth gritted in frustration. His tail gave a faint twitch and she was no closer to the answer she wanted when she sensed the snake's consciousness beginning to stir.

She withdrew from him quickly, the light evaporating into the air. Trying not to mash her teeth together too hard, she rose up on her feet and headed for the flat door. Before she shut the door behind her, she waved a nonverbal _finite incantatum_.

* * *

Tom blinked wearily when he roused from his nap. His body ached. His muscles gave repeated twinges, like if he had abruptly stopped running and his body hadn't caught up.

But why? How?

He looked around him in confusion. He heard Hermione's feet going down the stairs. The vibrations of her movement echoed through the floor broads. He didn't know why, but he felt like more than that was shifting in his world.

* * *

Hermione pulled out of her list of possibilities that she had stashed in the index of _Hogwarts, A History_ under the register. Wandless, she summoned her ink and quill.

An angry scrawl scratched out _Animagus_ along with four other varieties of Human Transfiguration from the list. Those would've been easily reveal. She continued down the list and dashed off a few more.

Suddenly, her list was very short. The most difficult for last. Maybe there was a chance she had missed the traces of their magic? No, damnit, she was Hermione Jean Ganger. Brightest witch of her age for a reason!

The St. Lucian Silverscale revealed to be what she expected. A mature, fertile adult specimen of adequate health and nourishment. Its scales were resilient, invulnerable to weak slicing and stinging hexes. Stunning and sleeping spells didn't permeate as deeply as they would against a more fragile species. She could not have read a more perfect definition from Care of Magical Creatures.

No, it was the essence of Tom himself that concerned. It was the part of Tom that spent long hours debating her medical examinations and magical theory. The Tom that echoed through her mind, reminding her she wasn't alone. For everything she could see in this part of him, there was nothing remarkable in Tom.

There was nothing magical about Tom.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Confused? If you are, then my job as a writer has been completed. I hope I captured Hermione's confusion and frustration with this chapter. Sometimes discoveries are over glorified as universe alternating revelations, but really a new piece of evidence tends to leads to more questions than answers. There will be some important revelations about horcuxes next chapter, don't worry. Thank you everyone for your glowing support! The reviews and feedback really tickle me. Special thanks to Lilura Maeva. Gaerven, I think you'll know which section was for you. If anyone has questions they would like answered, please leave a review and I'll PM (helps if you're logged in, btw). As you can guess by now, the aftermath of the war isn't the storybook happy ever after and it's something I enjoy exploring. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	7. Chapter 7

Horcrux.

It was written on her list, but should it be?

Horcrux.

She remembered what it was like wearing the locket. She remembered the strain, the constant dark thoughts that whispered in your ear all the time. Ron had definitely been the first to crumple under the pressure. Then again, Harry did almost let it drown him. What if Ron was right?

No, these ones were broken. They couldn't be affecting her. The crystalline cases were made to contain any residual magic.

She didn't feel any different. Her sleep was as subpar as it was since the days of being in the Forest of Dean.

No lost time or memory lapses.

Horcrux.

She knew what Ron would think. Harry had already told her his opinion. She needed to step away.

As if she could stop right now.

She tried to remember how much dark magic she felt the first time she held the diary. After all these years, she didn't recall much.

You're projecting your research on a snake, McGonagall would tell her. You're spending far too much time studying such morbid, terrible matters. Cherish the living you still have, Miss Granger.

 _Horcrux._

But she's wrong, she had to be. Tom was not an ordinary snake. There had been an explanation. Just because she couldn't see the magic or understand it, didn't mean it wasn't there.

" _Hermione?"_

* * *

The brunette startled out of her thoughts with a visible jolt. Onyx eyes watched her from the floor space in front of the coffee table. She was taken back by how much concern could inflected in one simple word. Tom had never said anything to her about her ambush assault several days ago. Briefly, she wondered if he was unaware of what she did to him or perhaps he just shielded those thoughts like so many others. She suspected the latter.

"Sorry," She muttered automatically.

"You've been staring at that paper for quite some time," Tom pointedly out leadingly.

Hermione swallowed and glanced down. Unlike most times where she had a spread of patient files out or a musty old tome, she held one piece of parchment this time. Her fingers twiddled with her quill anxiously while she looked at it. Among the few possibilities that weren't crossed out, the last read said _Horcrux_.

"Do you believe you have a soul, Tom?" She stared out the window while the words rolled over her lips lightly.

Tom hesitated before replying, "Of course."

Too smooth, too confident.

"But how are you sure?" Her expression was blank, almost indifferent, save for a raise of her eyebrow.

Tom's body coiled that time. Briefly, she wondered if he was a man, would he shift anxiously in his seat when he was uncomfortable or would it be a controlled tic.

"I can feel it. Don't you feel yours?"

Smooth deflection, even she had to admit. She sighed, tired of the half answers. The small truths that told her very little about her companion that had been living with her for several months now.

"I remember what it felt like the first time I was called Mudblood," The vile word didn't make her flinch like it used to. She commented on it idly, as if merely talking about the overcast sky outside. It would snow soon. "When I learned what I meant, I wanted to understand what it meant. I pulled every book I could find in the library. I wanted to know why I had magic and why other people didn't. What made me different from a Muggle? What made a Pureblood so _pure_?"

Her eyes only flickered back to Tom briefly to see if he was listening. He was. She continued on, "I couldn't find anything that made sense. I went home that summer and started studying biology and anatomy." She remembered how much her parents were considered by the way she spent the holiday indoors instead of outside.

"I spent so much time trying to understand what made us and them different. You know what I found?" She didn't wait for Tom to answer her. "Nothing. Genetically, there is no difference between a witch and a Muggle. It got me thinking then… if the difference isn't in our bodies, it must be in something else. It had to be in something else."

She leveled her eyes on Tom with an indifferent mask. "I started researching souls after I learned about horcruxes."

If she was expecting a gasp or a shout, she didn't get it. She wasn't even convinced that Tom was breathing. The snake could've been petrified for all she knew at this point.

"You know what those are," Her statement wasn't a question. "I've seen you staring at them, over and over." You're almost as obsessed as I am, she thought, but please let be me wrong.

" _Yes_." The response simple and fleeting in her mind, promising no more.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She didn't let herself feel relieved that she hadn't been simply paranoid.

"I wanted to understand the power of life and death," She continued in a detached manner. "I wanted to know why some souls stayed here, why some moved on. I had so many questions." Was it so wrong to seek knowledge? She rose up from her seat and approached the bookcase. "And then we started to destroy Voldemort's horcruxes." Her fingers glided over the box that covered the locket. "Have you ever seen a horcrux destroyed?" She turned to the unmoving snake.

His response was terse, "No."

"I have," She thought about the force and power behind each one she witnessed. It wasn't as simple as destroying an inanimate object. Something dark, beautifully twisted was released each time. "It made me realize there's so little we understand about not just how horcruxes are created, but splitting the soul. I kept them to study them." She picked up the box wrapped around the diary. The crystal glittered even in the low light. "Harry, Ron and I had more experience with horcruxes without actually creating one after the war than anyone in Britain." We owed it to ourselves to learn more, she had justified to herself. Of course Harry and Ron weren't interested. Harry wanted to move on and began creating the family he never had almost immediately. Ron tried to forget in a drink while between going back and forth with Lavender. He eventually settled down when she was expecting.

"I started helping at St. Mungo's after the war, helping treat the war victims and orphans. Soon I started getting letters from other hospitals. It was when I was traveling that I started to do my own research. After seeing the way the Ministry controlled the Prophet, I wondered what other information I would find outside. I found information in other countries that would make the Ministry whimper." After all, how many times was she frustrated by her access to books being restricted, even in the Hogwarts Library?

"For so long, I had thought that Herpo the Foul and Voldemort were the only one that created horcruxes," She gave a humorless snort, staring at the blacken stains on the diary. "They weren't even close… bayou witch doctors, shamans… there was one I don't even know his real name, but they called him the Dragon. He split his soul into three Chinese Fireballs." Her lips gave a dark smirk. Imagine trying to stab one of those with a Basilisk fang! "And the Mayan priests, their rituals would make you _shudder."_

She took a deep breath, realizing she was getting carried away. She could feel the simmering of something in Tom's thoughts, but nothing discernible came out. It was like feeling the heat of water that you knew would scorch if you touched it.

With a controlled exhale, she clutched the diary tightly in her hands and stared at Tom. "It'll be much more pleasant for the both of us if you tell me the truth, Tom," She warned him in a voice that sounded like a gentle prayer. "Are you a horcrux?"

The snake rose, coiling back in a movement somewhere between shrinking from her and tensing for a strike. There was plenty of room between them, but yet he also knew she could draw her wand before he even made it for the door.

"Maybe," He thought reluctantly.

"Maybe?" She raised a cool eyebrow.

"He, I…" Tom stuttered before catching himself and collecting his thoughts. "I made them before I knew what they were."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Her knuckles were white, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Such a simple statement invoked a flurry of gut twisting knots at all of their implications.

"You didn't know what you were doing when someone _died_?" She repeated dubiously. Murder was a pretty distinctive event. Not exactly something like missing a doctor's appointment.

"Not at the time," His tone took a defensive, but condescending sneer. "A foolish girl strayed into a path where she didn't belong… Surely your spells and curses have never missed their mark, Hermione?"

She frowned at the dripping sarcasm. An accident, he suggests. If she was to be frank with herself, even she wasn't sure if someone had died as a result of her magic. Thinking of all the fights, most of which she had to run from, with Death Eaters. She couldn't really be sure someone _didn't_ die, regardless of who it was and whether or not they deserved it or worse. That part of his words didn't bother her nearly as much as his complete and utter lack of remorse.

"Them?" She questioned instead. "You said them. You created more than one horcrux?"

An incoherent hiss ran through her mind at that one.

"Tell me, Tom," She demanded harshly. She could feel her magic crackling in the air around her.

Tom lowered his head down. She wondered if he could feel it too.

"I was sixteen. I decided to confront my _father_ ," He thought the words with such contempt she began to imagine what his expression would look like if he was still human. "I wanted to know what gave him the right, how disgusting could…" The words of his thoughts muddled.

Hermione struggled to understand it. "What did you do?" She tried to focus him.

"I went to his house. He was eating dinner with his _parents_. He tried to shut the door in my face."

The unadulterated disdain for family chilled Hermione. She didn't know how to relate to that, of such an opposite upbringing. She could only use her imagination to picture the confrontation and the words that might have ensued. Tom didn't seem to be the type to lead with fists. No, he would strike you down with his words.

"Then he pulled a gun on me."

"Your father was a Muggle?" She couldn't help herself with genuine surprise.

"Yes," His thought spat viciously, before regaining its composure. "Have you ever felt the metal of a barrel pressed to your skin, Hermione?"

His voice and imagery drew goosebumps. She shook her head.

"It makes you realize how just how easily a Muggle can strike you down. They don't even have to be particularly talented or _mean_ it."

She tried to stifle the wince. She knew full well just how much you had to mean it for a Crucatus to work.

"What did you do?" Her lips moved, even though her mind warned where this story was going.

"I panicked," Tom admitted rather frankly. "I drew my wand and threw the first spell that came to mind." The truth was in movements like that, you don't get time to think. There's no repertoire of school notes to draw upon, just muscle reflexes and instincts at a perceived threat.

"Which spell?" She was already imaging three flashes of green, the spinning before the body hits the floor.

"Expulso."

Hermione blinked, taken back at first. Expulso just made objects explode. It was a far spell from Unforgivables. She had even used it several times helping clear large debris from Hogwarts after the battle. But if there was anything the war taught her, magic was simply a tool. It was the intent and how it was used that mattered.

"And," She swallowed thickly, using his words, "did you hit your mark?"

"All three," He replied without flinching.

Looking back on it, she couldn't really recall what went through her mind at that point. There was very little that could've prepared her for the truth. The snake in front of her was a creation of a very real man, a wizard that just admitted to multiple deaths. She did recall the numb way she placed the diary back on the shelf before simply mumbling to Tom, "I think I need a drink."

* * *

He didn't do anything to stop the young witch from leaving the room, nearly fleeing. The flat door shut behind her and he didn't bother checking to see if it was locking. He knew better by now. Instead, he slithered to the window curtain and delicately pulled himself up along the sheer fabric. Once he was high enough, he could peer out the window and down at the street.

She had made it about twenty yards from the door of the shop before stopping in the middle of the street. Her wild mess of curls tossed over her shoulder as she placed her hands against her knees. She hunched over in a manner torn between wanting to retch and pray to a higher power above.

He knew that poise. It was the poise of someone having very little time to questioning their whole world.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I was on a role with writing today and I just had to get this chapter. Please let me know what you guys think of it!


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione stumbled back into the flat in the late hours, reeking of enough Firewhiskey to ignite the Goblet of Fire. She didn't even bother looking around for Tom. It was more important to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Her knees bumped into the mattress of her bed and she just kicked off her shoes, robes to be damned where they were. She barely muttered a _Nox_ before she was out.

Like any drunken induced stupor for her, not that there were many, it only lasted for a few hours. The slight swaying sensation in bed, or head spinning she couldn't tell, faded. Consciousness prickled at her, just like the rustling of the bed covers.

" _Lumos_!" She sat up, her wand glowing in the darkness of the room. A pair of eyes gleamed back at her from the left side of the bed.

"Tom!" She shrunk back from the large serpent curled loosely on the top of the comforter. "How did you get in here?"

"You left the door open," He drawled, shying back from the brightness of the light.

She sent a brief glare to the door that was very much ajar. "And you came in here," She deadpanned.

"It's warmer here," He answered as if it was the most obvious choice in the world. His body seethed against the coverings, trying to coax the warmth.

She blinked incredulously at him, squinting rather. The alcohol was definitely inhibiting her from processing this situation with a modicum of wit. "And you thought sneaking up on an armed witch was a good idea after what you told me earlier," She snapped out irritably. Merlin, her head was starting to spin again.

"Oh, Hermione…" She was pretty sure he actually rolled his eyes with the way his head turned away into the comforter. "If you were to going to kill me, you would not have spent the last five hours over whiskey rationalizing why you won't."

Her jaw dropped. She struggling to form any words before finally mumbling something along the lines of, "Bloody hell." She rolled over and turned her back on him as well. "Try anything and I'll hex you," She threatened, a slight slur to lip before the light extinguished.

Her face scrunched up at the sound of his laughter through her head.

When it finally went away, she stared into the darkness, trying to will herself to sleep and maybe some sanity.

"I'm a horribly selfish person, Tom," She whispered aloud.

"So am I. Go to sleep, Hermione."

* * *

Tom tried not to let it bother him that she never asked who he killed or anything else about his little confessions. Even after she nursed the hangover the next day, she was back to working through patient files. She didn't leave the bedroom door open again.

She still read with him and scratched his scales while watching late night television. But even he could feel the frosty chill that ran deeper between them.

* * *

Days turned into weeks.

She didn't smile at him or laugh at his dry humor.

Her eyes didn't linger on the bookcase when her mind was miles away like it used to. More than once, he caught them on himself. He earned to know what was brewing behind that dark cocoa gaze.

* * *

"How many?"

She asked one day while she was in the store rearranging the front display racks for the upcoming holiday season. Her hands were covered with dragon hide gloves as she moved some of the texts that didn't have the temperament for summoning spells.

"How many horcruxes did you make?" She clarified, looking down from her stepstool to the snake lazily watching from his sunbathing spot at the front of the store.

Tom picked up his head. "Too many," He answered her simply.

Hermione gave a humorless snort. Of course she wouldn't get a straight answer, she thought.

"I wondered what too many was," She reminisced aloud. "How many times can the soul handle being split? Every time you tear it apart, something is taken from it. What parts of it do you lose? How many times can you rip it apart before it breaks down? I tried to find the most horcruxes anyone has made."

"And?" His interest was thinly veiled.

"There was an American witch, Sarah Winchester. She was a Muggle-born actually," She paused, gauging his reaction. "Married a Muggle too."

Tom gave a faint hiss of annoyance. "Don't goad, Hermione."

She smirked a little bit before going on, "They were quite wealthy. Her husband owned a firearm company. They tried to have children, but her daughter died a few weeks after she was born. Then her husband died from tuberculosis."

The lack of empathy or any emotionless response from Tom made her wonder if he was really listening.

"Grief does terrible things to the mind," She placed a book on the shelf, careful that the sharp edges didn't slice through the gloves. "It takes people to a dark place, where they consider doing things they normally never would. Things that may not even stop the pain…"

"Like it did to Sarah?" Tom interrupted her.

"Yes… Like it did to Sarah," She reinforced carefully before going back to her story. "She believed the spirits of the victims killed by her husband's firearms were haunting her. She tried to keep them away by constantly building her home and creating horcruxes. She was obsessed with the number thirteen…"

"Thirteen horcruxes…" Tom's voice was a hollow echo in her mind.

"Yes."

He recovered quickly, "What happened to her?"

"She went insane. She set Fiendfyre on herself, the horcruxes and the mansion."

* * *

"What happened to your parents?" Tom tried to ask her while she wash the dishes after her dinner. He didn't know why she insisted on doing some things the Muggle way.

Her hand stilled in the bubbles. "They're dead," She said blankly. "I don't want to talk about it."

* * *

"Your horcrux was damaged, wasn't it?" Her question was more of a determination over the morning _Prophet_. "That's why I can't sense any dark magic from you?"

"It's possible," He answered her vaguely.

* * *

"Why don't you try to escape?" Hermione asked him while watching him feed.

She had finally indulged him by getting live rats. This time, she stood from the kitchen with her arms folded while the snake stalked after the critters that darted frantically through the living room.

"Escape?" Tom's thought was moderately distracted while his tongue darted out.

"You admitted to me that you're a wizard, or at least a creation of a wizard, who committed multiple murders," She stated bluntly, recalling their conversation the first time casually.

"So I should flee?" Tom challenged her while slithering towards the couch, eying the black beady eyes underneath. "From which I am being protected, fed, and cared for by intelligent, desirable company?"

"Desirable?" Hermione perked an eyebrow at that one.

"Yes, desirable," He repeated more firmly.

Hermione made a face. "I don't think –"

"Don't fish for compliments, Hermione, it's unbecoming," He chastised her while his body coiled back.

Her protest was cut off by the snake lunging under the couch. A strangle screech and thud gave away to a few sickening cracks.

"The reason I stay here is the same reason you haven't turned me into the Aurors," Tom's voice carried faintly in her mind.

Hermione frowned, but remained silent. _I know my motive is purely selfish_ , she thought, _but what is yours?_

* * *

With enough patience, he did eventually reveal his motive to her.

It came while she was hunched over a particularly frustrating patient file from France. It was a vicious, nasty curse. Every time she attempted to dispel a portions of it, it began to asphyxiate the host and retreated to a different area of the body.

They had spent the better part of two hours running through treatment scenarios. Parchment after parchment sat in front of her with hurried scrawl, scratched out sections. _If this one fails, then resort to…_ it was starting to become a muddled mess and doubt crept into her.

"I don't know if I can do this one on my own," Her hands smeared the ink on her nose further as she rubbed her hands against her face, her elbows against her knees.

"Perhaps…" Tom's thought was light, almost a hiss from next to her. "If I were there…"

Hermione gave a humorless snort. "You don't even have hands, Tom," She snapped out irritably. "What good would you be in an operation room."

He didn't flinch away from her tone or take much insult. "Maybe," He suggested mildly instead, "If I were there not as a snake…"

Her hands stopped rubbing and she slowly pulled them away. Her fingers were tainted black with ink and the unsettled realization.

That was it.

That was his angle.

 _A body._

"My clever, little witch, if there's anyone who can do it, it's you."

"And why, would I ever even consider doing that?" She watched her fingers begin to shake as she forced each word out carefully.

"I could help you," His voice lulled out gently, that same tone that could coax her to serenity when she closed her eyes and imagined it came from somewhere else. "I could teach you more about magic than you ever dreamt of, about souls and horcruxes. You know I could help your patients."

But he didn't care about the patients, she knew. He never asked how any of them recovered. He only asked if their methods and theories worked. If he solved the puzzle.

Her hands curled into white knuckled fists.

" _No_ ," She spat out harshly, "Don't ever ask me that again."

Abruptly, she stood up, pulling out her wand. With a flick, her papers gathered into a pile in her hand. Angry footsteps echoed through the building and the walls shuddered when the flat door slammed behind her.

* * *

She wondered if Eve had the same feeling when the serpent offered the apple with the promise of knowledge. The same gut wrench that rippled through her body. Did it warn her then?

It wasn't that she was going to do it.

It wasn't that she wanted to do it.

It was that she wondered if she _could_ do it.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Thanks for all the reviews and support everyone! I really appreciate the feedback. I know last chapter left a lot of questions and hopefully this one answered some of them. This one is a little short but hopefully gives some more insight to Hermione and Tom. Does Hermione know its Tom now? You tell me if you think she knows. They're both keeping their cards close. Another chapter or so of the quiet before the storm and you'll get some answers. I had a question about music, I listen to No One's Here to Sleep by Bastille/Naughty Boy a lot when I'm writing this fic. HTGAWM fans would recognize it. I think it captures the mood rather well. Sarah Winchester was a real person, I embellished the story for the sake of fiction. If you ever get the chance to visit the Winchester Mansion, I recommend it. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	9. Chapter 9

Tom didn't bring it up again.

Hermione didn't ask him why he wanted a body.

Tom didn't ask her why she left for several days at a time leading up to the holidays.

He did try to ask her what was so interesting about one of the texts she gathered that she had to personally smuggle it through Muggle transportation to avoid Ministry when she brought it into the country.

Said text was floating idly in the air down in the back of her shop on a day when the store was closed to the public. Her hands were covered up to her elbows in protective dragon hide gloves she favored.

"I wouldn't get too close," She warned the serpent slithering along the shadows towards her. She barely lifted her gaze while she carefully paged through the tome.

A pair of eyes that gleamed in the light when the candle caught it so tried to make out the title, which was nothing more than an unfamiliar set of runes.

"This one gets particularly nasty to anyone who isn't pureblood touching it," She said lightly, making a point of waving her gloved fingers in the air.

She was pretty sure she saw Tom shrink back at a bit.

"Although," She mused morbidly. "I wonder what it would do it to a snake…"

"I'm not volunteering," Tom replied stubbornly.

Hermione smirked while watching him slink away after that.

* * *

 _Hermione,_

 _I'm glad you made it back from the Yucatan okay. I hope you got a chance to take a break from your research to get some rest and sun. Everything is going well here. Albus isn't waking as much in the middle of the night. James is getting into everything. Ginny made me put up age lines around the Quidditch equipment. I don't know about bringing Tom with you on Christmas Eve. Maybe when the kids are a little older, Ginny doesn't let them out of her sight yet._

 _Miss you,_

 _Harry_

* * *

 _Mione,_

 _Boston, huh? Wicked cool! That's how they say it, right? I'm jealous of all the Ice Lobster you probably had. Can't wait to see you Christmas Day at the Burrow. Everyone is going to be there. Mum, Dad, Charlie and Fleur, even George, Angelina and little Fred._

 _Harry told me about your new pet. I can't believe you named him Tom. Is that some kind of sick joke? No wonder Gin was mad! I never seen her nonverbally Bat-Boogey someone before. You know Mum's rules, every mouth at the table has to contribute. Maybe Tom can get rid of the garden genomes._

 _Think about spending New Year's with us. We reserved the same room at the Leaky Cauldron. Neville and Luna will be there too._

 _Lav sends her love too,_

 _Ron_

* * *

When Hermione brought up the latest owl to Tom, he had one thing to say on the matter.

"I'm not hunting any bloody garden genomes."

* * *

It didn't escape Tom's notice that the only symbol of the festive season Hermione allowed for was a large decorated tree in the front window of the shop. He was a little disgruntled to lose his sunbathing spot, but he figured the tree was more for the customers than Hermione. She didn't hang any garland in the flat or stockings over the fireplace. There were no smells of ginger or baking cookies. Save for the tinkling of red and white from the front shop window, the month passed as somberly as the winter dusk.

* * *

The afternoon of Christmas Eve, Hermione took a break to read some Muggle literature before she had to go. Some Austen woman, he figured out. Truthfully, he didn't read much of the pages after figuring out their overly sentimental nature. He just took the opportunity to doze in and out on her shoulders.

With a casual flick of her wand to check the time, Hermione gave a sigh. The shudder caused the serpent's eyes to open lazily. "I should probably go get ready now," She thought aloud. She absently reached up to brush a few fingers against the base of Tom's neck.

"Are you going to be okay here alone tonight?" She turned towards him.

Tom shifted uncomfortably at the sudden concern. "Today is no different than any other. Every year I've sent this day the same," He thought as if reciting a fact from _History of Magic_ , bland and without interest.

Hermione bit back any form of pity that bubbled up on her lips. Living with Tom, she had learned he had little patience for such things. Instead, she closed her book and dropped it to the coffee table. Untucking her legs, she leaned over and drop a kiss to the top of his head, just a mere brush of her lips.

"Merry Christmas, Tom," She said before getting up and heading to her room.

* * *

Like last year and the year before that, she didn't go the Leaky Cauldron with the Weasley's, Potters, and her school friends. Instead, this year she stayed in Hogsmeade.

"Why are we doing this?" Tom grumbled for the third time.

It took quite a bit of coaxing and a warming charm to coax the giant serpent out of the safety of her home. With a magically modified weightless satchel, she was able to carry the snake across town. Every now and then she had to nose him back into the bag to keep from frightening other passersby.

"I told you, the Shrieking Shack has the best view for fireworks here," Hermione replied airily. After about twenty minutes of stepping through the abandoned house, she made her way to the highest room. Tom held back no opinion of her plans when she crawled out through the window onto the sloping roof.

A flick of her wand cleared out the snow and now the pair sat on the blanket in the chilly winter air. Thanks to her warming charm, she had her gloves tugged off and her scarf hung loosely around her neck.

"Yes, I'm aware of your fascination with colored explosions," Tom grumbled out petulantly. "But _why_ are you doing this?"

She turned to her satchel, digging in around amongst the other objects she had stashed away.

"Hermione," Tom pressed, getting impatient with her lack of response.

Success! She found the bottle of Firewhiskey she had kept for the occasion. "Because…" She began carefully while cracking the seal. "No one should be alone on New Year's." She pointedly kept her gaze away from him while she took a swig. Her face scrunched up momentarily at the burn. She wasn't sure which burned more, the alcohol or the way she could feel Tom's eyes boring into her.

"And, I also wanted to tell you that I've been working on creating a ritual," She set the bottle down and squared her shoulders, mustering up her strength.

"A ritual?" Tom's interest was piqued.

"Yes, to see if I can get your body back," She glanced at her companion, who she held his undivided attention.

"Can you?" His eagerness was evident.

"Not exactly," She frowned. "At least as it was when you last had it…"

Her voice trailed off and he thought she was going to keep going, but she didn't. "No time to be coy, Hermione, tell me," He demanded.

"I thought I would start with researching some of the Mayan spiritual rituals," She explained while staring out over the little wizarding community before them. "I had remembered one of the shamans telling me how they kept animal companions and could transform into them."

"Animagus?" Tom guessed her line of thinking.

"That's what I thought too, but not quite," She answered, wrinkling her brow as she did. "More permanent…"

She cleared her throat and went on. "That's where I went at the beginning of this month. After studying them, it made me think of familiars in Salem. The High Witch there told me about a practice they use for beloved familiars about to pass away. Vessel… transference, I think?" She waved her hand casually as she spoke. "I'm still working on the translations for that one. But I think I can take the principles of it and maybe adapt the Mayan ritual."

"It sounds like a plausible theory," Tom replied neutrally. She could hear the faint hum from him, thoughts turning in his head but too distant for her to understand.

She shrugged her shoulders and took another swig. "There's still a lot of work to do. I have to translate the runes, draw my own… then there's the timing of it, I don't want to inadvertently make a horcrux," Her expression twisted with a shudder. There wasn't anyone she was willing to tear her soul apart for.

"It's going to take time," She concluded with a sigh.

She felt a nudge at her hand, the one not holding the bottle, in her lap. Instinctively, her fingers moved to scratch at the ridge behind his eyes while the snake rested his head on her thigh. "Time is something I have an abundance of, Hermione," He replied quietly.

In the streets below them, she watched the crowd starting to thicken. The mist of hot breaths rose in the air and laughter carried on the breeze.

"There is a slight caveat though," She interrupted the silence.

"Why do I have the sense that slight is putting it lightly?" Tom's voice drawled through her head.

"It depends on how you take it," She replied slyly before taking another big gulp. Merlin knew she needed it to calm her nerves for this part.

"Pray tell."

She could faintly here the chanting of a countdown below them.

"While I think I can change your body," Hermione's eyes darted down to his head in her lap nervously. "There isn't anything I can do about your soul."

"My soul?" Tom repeated dubiously.

"Mhmm," She hid her lips behind the glass a moment, "If your soul is fragmented," It wasn't really _if_ , but a fact as a horcrux. "I can't make it any stronger or weaker than however it is today… now, in this body, it will be in the next body."

Her fingers could feel the muscles of his lean body tense beneath them. She paused before continuing, "If you're unable able to do magic, then –"

"I would be a Muggle," He finished for her.

She nodded stiffly.

She could feel his body begin to quiver against her leg.

"A _Muggle_ ," His voice was twisted and anguished.

A piercing shrill ripped through the air as the first firework soared high above them.

Tom's shriek was lost in the explosion of red sparks. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the sky while the serpent recoiled away. She flinched from the strangled cry echoing in her head.

Another burst of white glittering joined the first. She didn't watch the snake retreat into the building.

Her own choked sound joined Tom's in her head while his carried on, screaming until her ears throbbed.

Her cry wasn't a sob she realized. It bubbled up and made her shoulders shudder. Her laughter bellowed out around her. She clutched the Firewhiskey bottle to her chest as she laughed.

She laughed until her cheeks hurt.

She laughed until her sides burned.

She laughed until the tears in her eyes couldn't see the fireworks.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's the last chapter before the dynamic of the story changes quite a bit, I know a lot of you are looking forward to that. FF has been acting up lately, I've tried replying to the reviews I got but I haven't been able to all of them. If you have questions, please PM me and I'll be more than happy to talk about the story. I love hearing your theories about Tom! To the guest reviewer "M", I'm flattered you enjoy my characterizations so much! Hozier is brilliant too, I was listening to "To Be Alone" while writing this one. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	10. Chapter 10

Tom didn't speak to her for several days after New Year's.

He spent most of his time wrapped up in the nest of blankets. She couldn't see his face, but the few times she got close she got a hiss as a response. He actually made her second guess whether or not she had taken communication potion that month.

* * *

About a week later, when she found a shed skin in the living room one morning, she gave him a few hours before deciding enough was enough.

"Tom," Her voice said, crouching next to the blankets, trying to guess where his head was at.

Another irritable hiss.

"I didn't catch that," She retorted dryly.

" _Go away_ ," He finally came, rather harshly in her ears.

Stubborn.

Fine, two could be stubborn. "No," She sat down on her rear and folded her legs.

"I mean it, Hermione," His threat wasn't harsh enough to instill any fear in her, or she was just used to them by now.

"And you think I don't?" She shot back hotly. "You can be mad at me all you want, but I'm not going to let you develop retained spectacles under my watch."

His words were slurred into a hiss and she only caught, "Insufferable."

"Now, show me your face," She demanded, holding a warm moist cloth. "Or I'll stupefy you and drag you out from there by your tail."

There was a rustling in the fabric before a reluctant snout poked out of them.

"Come here," She coaxed gently, holding her palm open for him.

She felt him sigh in her mind before the snake moved forward. Gently, she caught him under the chin and tilted his head up so she could inspect his eyes closer. Lightly, she dabbed the cloth at the newly exposed skin.

"How long…" His voice hesitated. "How long would I have if I stayed in this form?"

Hermione frowned thoughtfully, biting her lip as she inspected his face, "Ten, maybe fifteen years."

"And if… I went through with it?"

She tilted his head in the other direction, inspecting the other side for any dead skin tags. His voice sounded, dare she say, vulnerable. It made her uncomfortable.

"Well, I wouldn't go through all that trouble for you to kick it shortly after as an old man," She tried to brush off the feeling with humor. "But if you're really that eager to go through puberty again, I'm sure I could arrange something…"

" _Hermione."_

Part of her wanted to reassure him that it would be okay. That she would take care of him, but she couldn't and she didn't.

* * *

The following day, Hermione installed one of those Muggle telecommunication contraptions on one of the living room end tables. Like that blasted bookcase, the paranoid witch warded it so only she could touch it. Tom figured this out when he tried to nudge it while she was in the shower.

A firm electric shock to the nose later, he was bumping into furniture for hours and couldn't smell a damn thing.

* * *

Tom didn't normally question where she went or what she was up to. But the day she came into the flat covered with soot, dust, and something else that caused him to recoil, he had to.

"Where _were_ you?" That stench was old, recently stirred up, he was sure of it.

Hermione stopped her march to the bathroom. She looked down at soiled robes. "Shrieking Shack," She sighed, attempting to brush off more dust from her front. "I cleared out the basement. I thought it would be a good area for the ritual. No one goes up there, students still think it's haunted."

Tom hummed slightly in thought, understanding why it seemed faintly familiar.

"You smell like wet dog."

* * *

"I think I worked out the runes," She announced while waiting for the coffee to brew in the kitchen.

"Do you want me to look it over?" Tom offered sleepily.

She shook her head, "No. I'm pretty confident about it."

* * *

"My, my," Tom didn't pass up the chance to goad her when she came back to the flat twice that day wearing a white long jacket. " _Two_ Unforgivables in one day, little witch?"

Hermione gave him a withering glare while plucking the visitor badge off her coat. "I didn't hurt anyone," She replied defensively, shrugging the jacket off her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with just gathering information."

She dropped the badge into a small bowl on the kitchen counter. The number had recently been accumulating of various fake names, but similar institutions.

"I only asked for a phone call for a specific set of circumstances," She rationalized, seeing some of the names peering back at her.

 _Middlesex Hospital. Whittington Hospital. Royal Northern Hospital. St. Lukes Hospital._

* * *

"I have to go to the Forbidden Forest to gather one of the ingredients," She had told him before gathering a heavy winter jacket. He didn't stop her, even when he was eying the storm clouds rolling in.

* * *

When she came back in the early hours of the morning, even Tom knew better than to goad her. The thunder cracked, causing the glass of the windows to shudder against the frames. When the lighting lit up the room as Hermione stumbled into the flat, Tom was alarmed by her pale, wide-eyed expression.

"Hermione?" He asked.

She jumped, her eyes darting around before settling on him. Barely seeing him.

He was looking at her hands though. Even in the darkness, the silver-bluish liquid glowed. Even before his tongue darted out reflexively in the air, he knew what it was. "Is that…" He knew, but he had to ask. "Unicorn blood?"

"I didn't kill it," She muttered quickly. "I didn't kill it, I swear I didn't."

Her hands shook violently as she held them in front of her. "I just… I just needed its tears."

She sat at the bottom of the shower that night, hugging her knees to her chest until the water ran cold and her body shuddered violently.

* * *

The snow on the ground had begun to thaw into the early signs of spring when the day came that the telephone rang. It came with a shrilling ring, cutting through the peaceful silence of the flat.

Hermione looked up from her book and Tom turned his head from his perch on the back of the couch. On the third ring, she picked it up and held it to her ear without a greeting.

Tom could faintly hear the voice on the other line. The conversation was short. Hermione simply acknowledged it, "Understood. I'll be there shortly."

The phone dropped back on the receiver with a clank.

There was a deep sigh from Hermione, bracing herself, before she announced, "It's time."

* * *

They stood at the end of the patient's bed while Hermione looked over the notes from the imperio'd nurse. She could feel Tom shifting anxiously from the satchel slung across her body. His head peered out from the opening, staring curiously at the unresponsive patient.

"Male, twenty-five years old. Clean medical history prior, family history looks good too," She read aloud, flipping through the papers. "Victim in a hit and run with a drunk driver. Only immediate family member is a single mother." Her eyes darted to the bedside, noting the lack of balloons and flowers. "No friends, unlikely to be missed. Much at least."

"These contraptions…" Tom asked curiously, looking at the various boxes. Some of them beeped and hummed. Tubes ran from them to the patient's nostrils and throat. One wheezed and huffed periodically. "Are keeping him alive?"

"For now, at least," Hermione muttered. "Although, the longer he's on them, I'm not sure how much there is left to keep alive."

Tom didn't say anything while she finished reading the notes. With a sigh, she pocketed them in the satchel, carefully around the serpent.

"Thoughts?" Tom coaxed.

Hermione bit her lip in thought. "I'm thinking a few Duplicating charms for the equipment," After all they needed to keep him allow just barely long enough. "Portkey for the rest. Confunded boggart with a Notice Me Not charm should do the trick for the Muggles."

"Yes, it should," He agreed.

A second thought came after, "I won't look like at him, will I?"

She could hear the curling disgust in his tone while Tom eyed the brutally battered face, covered mostly in dark bruises and swelling. She could barely make out a tuft of blonde hair. She rolled her eyes at the sudden moment of vanity, "No. You'll just look as you should've at his age."

"Now, unless you have a better idea how to keep someone at the cusp of death and harness the energy of their passing without creating another horcrux, let's not waste any more time," She declared.

* * *

The ritual itself ended up being rather anticlimactic given the months of planning. In the basement of the Shrieking Shack, she had placed a large soaking tub. She spent a few days etching her rune creations into the sides. They placed the accident victim carefully in the tub, using some of the Muggle equipment to monitor his heart rate. Tom was placed on the other end of the tub. She spent two days brewing the potion, which she then filled half the tub with the two of them in there. Tom hissed from the coolness of the liquid, which glittered a gold sheen from the unicorn tears.

Hermione sat on a stool by the tub and they counted the breaths after they took the Muggle off the last of the machines. Forty-five long minutes passed before the moment came and Hermione recited the incantation to begin the ritual.

It ended with a thick rise of steam that caused Hermione to cough and sputter. She leant back and waved it away from her face.

"Tom?!" She began to panic when her vision cleared enough to see the serpent slumped limply over the edge of the tub. Its eyes were closed and its mouth hung open loosely.

She reached forward to touch it, but hesitated at the last moment when her eyes caught the other end of the tub. Instead of seeing the blotching, tarnished skin of the Muggle, she froze at what she saw.

The first thing she noticed was the short, wiry blonde hair was gone. A head full of thick, raven locks covered the slumped over figure. The bruises and swelling were gone, revealing a pale, aristocratic features and a straight nose. Shallow, ragged breaths came from chapped lips.

Seeing a face before her bringing the reality of her actions, Hermione bore a moment of humility to wonder, "Oh, what I have done?"

* * *

Four days she spent with the unconscious man on her living room couch. She transfigured the furniture's bottom couches to extend out into a makeshift bed.

Four days she paced anxiously waiting for him to awake.

Four days of checking his vitals.

Four days of sitting by his side, studying the features of his face until she saw them even when she closed her eyes.

Four days of watching his chest rise and fall evenly, checking his wrist for a heartbeat that was steady and strong.

Four days of urging him to wake up, to make sure she wasn't alone.

* * *

On the fifth day, the charmed bracelet on his wrist alerted Hermione that he was beginning to wake.

* * *

It started with a twitch of his fingers and under his eyelids. Consciousness pricked at him shyly at first, but then it hit him with the force of the Hogwarts Express. Everything about his body ached. His muscles twinge and his joints gave a sharp stab. He felt it in his chest, pounding in his head, all the way down his ankles.

He couldn't help the groan that passed his lips.

"Tom?" The feminine familiar voice broke through all of it.

Grey, almost charcoal eyes opened, searching out the source. Blurrily, he made out the figure sitting to his left. A bushy mess of brown curls, chocolate eyes and lightly freckled skin.

"Hermione," He sighed out, the corners of his lips beginning to pick up into something that could have been a grin or maybe even a smile.

His hand lifted, despite his body's protest. He had to touch her.

"Not so fast," Her voice struck sharply.

He blinked several times, having to refocus on the rush of movement in front of him, when realized he was staring down the length of a vine wood wand. His eyes moved from the tip of her wand up to meet hers.

There was no warmth or relief in them.

"I think it's time you and I came to an understanding, Tom," She spoke slowly, pausing only a moment to correct herself, "Or should I be calling you Lord Voldemort?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for all the support last chapter! I hope you guys are as excited about this chapter as I was to write it. As much as snake Tom was fun to write, it's now for the next part of the story. FF is still acting up on the reviews, but I'm doing my best to respond to them. Please shoot me a PM if you have any questions. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	11. Chapter 11

"I think it's time you and I came to an understanding, Tom," She spoke slowly, pausing only a moment to correct herself, "Or should I be calling you Lord Voldemort?"

His lips curled down into a snarl. "Don't call me that," His voice was a little gruff as he forced his throat to action.

A thin eyebrow raised. "Okay then, Riddle –"

"No, it's Tom," His voice grew firmer. "Just Tom."

Her eyes narrowed and she blinked several times suspiciously.

"Why?" He asked, his eyes darted back and forth between her and the wand nearly pressed against the bridge of his nose. "You knew, but you still did it," He realized.

"I have my reasons," Hermione frowned at the unexpectedness of his reaction. He remained still on the couch, like a cornered animal. "I told you when I made up my mind. I'm a selfish person."

Several emotions flickered across his eyes, primarily confusion and disbelief.

Hermione mentally tried to shake it away. She better equipped to deal with indifference and rage. "Now, think very carefully about what you decide to do next," She warned him, pressing the tip of her wand against his skin. She wondered if he could feel her magic crackling in the air like she did.

"You know that if you try to harm me in any way, I can do much worse to you before you finish the thought," She started with the obvious.

The hardening of Tom's expression and settling of his glare was the only acknowledgment she got that he was listening.

"Even if you did escape, where would you go?" Her words were practically a taunt. "Back to your Death Eaters? Most of them have been rounded up and Kissed. I doubt the ones left would take too kind to a Muggle claiming to be their Dark Lord, but be my guest and let me know how that works out for you."

Tom's upper lip give a twitch, biting back a protest as the tip of her wand caused him to press his head further back against the cushions.

"So really you have two options from where I see it," Hermione went on. "You can fight against me and I'll decide you're not worth my time." She dragged the tip of her wand up to his forehead, "But maybe not before I try out a few new spells. Who knows, maybe I can give a Crucio just as well as I can take them," She mused darkly.

"And then," Her wand slid down to press against his temple. "I can rape your mind until I find out which one of your Death Eaters used the Live Disembowelment Curse on my parents."

"Once I'm bored of you, which could take quite some time, only then, I could turn you over to the Aurors," She promised, the wand moving down to his cheekbone. "Where you'll be put on a very public, very long and humiliating trial."

"Then they'll put you in Azkaban, for not nearly as long as you deserve," The wand went to the corner of his mouth. "And perhaps, if you're lucky, when you can't take it anymore they'll let you have the Kiss after you beg for it." Her wand stopped on his bottom lip.

She watched it tremble under the touch before her eyes shifted up to his.

" _Or_ , you could work with me, under my orders," She suggested, her voice softening from the cold glee. Tom's eyes flashed at that and he bristled, but she could still tell she had him hanging on every word.

"You stay with me, you help me with my medical research. Be it my research assistant if anyone asks," She smirked. "And you teach me everything you know about souls and horcruxes, how you're alive, and well, anything else that strikes my fancy."

Tom swallowed thickly, trying to keep his mind on her words and not panicking at how quickly the situation as unraveling for him. "And the Ministry, the Order?" He clarified, "You would shelter me from them?"

"Naturally," Hermione agreed without batting an eye.

Tom stared at the young witch thoughtfully. He took in her presence, the way her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes burned with a determination to disregard her apparent loyalties for her own desires. He began to appreciate just as selfish she truly was at that moment.

His eyes shifted in something a little bit sinister. "You would risk raising the Dark Lord, just to blackmail him into gaining his power and secrets," A cold sneer pulled at his lips. "My, Miss Ganger, your heart is as black as they come."

Hermione snarled dangerously and jabbed the point of her wand harshly into the hollow of his cheek. "Make my day and say that again," She dared.

"No need!" Tom grimaced quickly, closing his eyes and turning his head from the pressure on his cheek. "Diary fragment speaking," He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He muttered under his breath afterwards, "Presumptuous git doesn't know when to quit it."

Hermione blinked in stun at the rapidness of his changing demeanor. "Fragment?" She repeated her thoughts as they came. "From the horcrux? A soul fragment?"

Tom just squinted, opening his eyes carefully.

"You're more than one? How is that possible? How many are you?" She grew impatient and the tip of her wand started to glow red, "Answer me, Tom!"

"Three, just three!" He winced, gritting his teeth together. "The diary, the ring and the diadem."

Well, fuck.

She hadn't seen that one coming.

"The diadem," She repeated numbly, trying to keep herself talking instead of thinking just how grossly she miscalculated. The diary and ring, first two horcruxes. Okay, but wait, "Why the diadem? Why that one?" She asked.

"Fuck if I know!" Tom's voice rose.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline at his bluntness.

"Would you get that out of my face?" He tried to shrink further away from the wand that was leaving a burn against his cheek.

"That depends," Hermione eased back on the heat, but didn't drop it from him. "Are you going to work with me or against me?"

He didn't waste any time. "With you," His voice was firm and confident.

She quirked an eyebrow, expecting more of an argument. "Alright then," She cleared her throat, easing the wand a bit.

"Well, I would make you swear it…" Tom gave her a sour look at that. "But I guess we'll do it the Muggle way," She held her other hand out to him with a faint smirk.

Their eyes remained locked while Tom slowly eased his hand into hers. Callous, rough palm met soft, petite. His touch was warmer than what she expected and he gave a firm squeeze. Slowly, she backed the wand off his face. She could see the visible exhale before she swiftly rose to her feet and gave him space.

Tom didn't flinch under her constant stare while he took advantage of the silence to ease himself sitting upright. His bare feet touched the floor chill. He glanced over himself, realizing the hospital scrubs had been replaced with plain cotton pants and shirt.

"So," His hand touched his face, feeling the tender spot while he tried to ignore the wand still held at her side. "I'll be staying here?" He glanced around dubiously.

Hermione nodded firmly, "The couch will do. We can't stay here for long though. I'll have to contact some friends to see if I can get you some Muggle papers for us to travel anywhere. It won't be cheap to get a decent identification, but –" She stopped mid-speech when a noise that came from neither of their mouths gargled through the room. She blinked, "Was that your _stomach_?"

Tom's hand went to his mid-section. He half shrugged with a touch of color on his cheeks, "I last ate three weeks ago."

"Oh," She mumbled. Quite frankly, she couldn't wrap her mind around the situation to do something as simple as domestic cooking. With all the adrenaline going, she knew her hands would shake violent just holding a tea pot. "Are you good enough to get up and about?" She wondered.

Tom hesitated thoughtfully before nodding.

"Would anyone recognize if I brought you down to the Three Broomsticks?"

"Depends," He replied, "Who's the barkeep?"

"Rosmerta."

The name drew a blank. He shook his head, "Then no."

"There's a duffle bag of some clothes," She gestured to the end of the couch. "I guessed your sizes while you were out. You know where the bathroom is," She ordered before she could second guess her decision.

* * *

To the other residents, they looked like a doting couple, bundled up against the chill breeze and walking arm in arm. Truthfully, it made it easier for Hermione to hide the wand pointed into his side. Only then she began to truly appreciate his tall stature compared to her slender frame.

She nearly stumbled when his long strides stopped abruptly halfway there. With a questioning scowl, she looked at him and followed his gaze.

"You can see still Hogwarts?" Hermione frowned.

Tom just nodded once before being dragged along by Hermione.

* * *

Her head was titled to the side and her brow furrowed deeply. She didn't disguise the way her upper lip curled up, exposing a few teeth. They sat across from each other in a booth at the Three Broomsticks, at the table furthest from the front door she could find. Her eyes darted back and forth between his fingers and the neglected utensils on the table. Her own plate untouched and Butterbeer barely sipped.

"Must you look at me like that?" Tom mumbled, hunched over his plate without glancing up at her.

"I'm sorry," She muttered sarcastically. "What's the appropriate look for watching Voldemort stuff his cheeks like a hamster?"

Tom closed his eyes with a deep sigh. "Don't call me that. It's Tom –"

"Just Tom," She repeated his words disbelievingly. "Right." She didn't understand the difference. "But honestly," She wondered how he didn't choke. "The fish and chips aren't _that_ good here."

He finally reached for a napkin then. "Survive off of eating rats for five years and see if your opinion changes," He wiped the crumbs from his fingers.

Hermione kept her arms folded over her chest while watching his actions, still trying to process even the smallest expressive actions. She would've been less weirded out if he had just tried to kill her upon waking up.

"Speaking of," He wiped his mouth, his eyes dripped with light intrigue. "What took you so long to get live ones?"

Hermione felt uncomfortable trying to equate the striking man in front of her with her pet snake. She shrugged stiffly and mumbled, "They remind me of Peter Pettigrew."

Tom blinked, his hand pausing on his stein, before letting out a full laugh.

The abrupt noise startled Hermione so much she jumped in her seat.

"That _is_ off putting to consider," He agreed after taking a deep gulp, ignoring her discomfort.

She watched him pick up his fork for the first time since they sat down. "So, three fragments," Her curiosity itched at her.

"Mhmm," He hummed before a bite.

"How does that work?" She wondered.

"Not very well," He admitted bluntly. "It's bloody confusing."

"Am I…" She tried to understand, letting herself believe just for arguments' sake that he was telling the truth. "talking to all of them or just one?"

"Both?" He didn't inspire a lot of confidence with his first answer. "But it started with me, the ring."

"And that's who I've been talking to all this time?" She hoped.

"Most days," He agreed.

She tried to push away the headache this was giving her. "The others," She didn't really know what to call them. "What are they like?"

He paused in his eating and his gaze wandered absently while he spoke. The Inn was pretty empty for a Tuesday afternoon. "I'm getting better about keeping them in check," He confessed. "You met the diary fragment, he's –"

"A presumptuous git?" She tossed his words back at him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up and her eyes darted down to the dimple that formed, "Yes."

"And the diadem?" She urged.

His shoulders actually slumped thinking about it. "Exhausting, constant drivel," His eyes fluttered closed momentarily. "Unless you want to meet him, I suggest you keep that covered." Long, dexterous fingers gestured towards her forearm.

"I'll keep that mind," She muttered, self-consciously pulling the fabric down at her wrist. "But, how exactly does –"

" _Eat,_ Hermione," Tom interrupted, nodding to the plate growing cold. "Let me enjoy my first meal as a man in sixty years."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I hope you guys love this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Throughout the story, I've been dropping hints about the motivation for Hermione's actions. Grief over her losing parents has driven her to desperate measures and making questionable decisions. This chapter hints at some of what happened, (I made up the curse, but hey that's fiction and you can use your imagination) and it'll be touched on later in the story. Let me know what your thoughts are on Tom! If you don't completely understand it, that's fine, it's kind of the point at this stage in the story. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	12. Chapter 12

Tom sauntered into the flat as if he owned the place and Hermione had to remind herself yet again he was the now gone pet.

"I think I ate too much," He said, dropping unceremoniously onto the couch, clutching at his stomach.

"I try to warn you against a second plate," Hermione muttered, shutting the door behind them.

Apprehensively, she watched him kick his shoes off with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Unlike him, she didn't bother removing her gloves and jacket.

"Where are you going?" He asked when she stopped in front of the fireplace.

Her hand only hesitated when it held a handful of glittery green powder. "Away from here," She said without turning around.

A roar of the fireplace later and she was gone before he even could think of a good reason to stop her. The fire extinguished and the security wards initiated on the doors of the flat like a swift cold draft.

* * *

She Floo'd into the congested Ministry of Magic Atrium. She pushed past the witches and wizards flowing in and out of the heart of the wizarding community. Her determination over powered the suffocating feeling of so many voices and being jostled as she brushed past the restored Fountain of Magical Brethren for the department lifts.

Harry was walking with Minister Kingsley, shadowed by two Trainees, when he spotted the frazzled brown locks rushing towards him.

"Hermione?" He caught her up in his arms when a movement that came as naturally as breathing. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't tell if the jerking next to his shoulder was a shrug or nod. "N-Nothing, I just miss you."

He took the rest of the day off and all but dragged Hermione back to the Cottage to see Ginny and the kids. Ginny nearly threatened her at knife point to stay for dinner. By the time she left, he made sure she was calmer, looking less sickly pale, even though he didn't manage to truly pry what was wrong out of her.

* * *

When she Floo'd back to her flat that evening, she wasn't sure what to expect after her new roommate was left to his own devices. What she did see gave her pause. She blinked a few times and shook her head before going to the kitchen to make some tea.

He hadn't moved an inch when she came back with a warm mug in hand.

"Voldemort is sleeping on my couch," Maybe if she said it aloud, it would be easier to believe. "Snoring."

Whether she would've expected the perfected poise of a vampire sleeping in a coffin, her imagination wasn't prepared for the young man sprawled across the worn piece of furniture, one hand on his stomach and the other dangling off the edge. A raspy sigh of a snore passed across his parted lips. She suspected it had more to do with the awkward angle of his neck than a chronic habit.

She glanced down to the coffee table and noticed her copy of _Most Potente Potions_ laid open with a quill on top. She had forgotten to put that away earlier, she realized. She gasped, nearly taking offense to the scratched out sections until she realized he had written his own corrections into the margins.

Her hand reached for the page, studying the handwriting in fascination. It still threw her to be the one corrected instead of the other way around. Her eyes studied the fluid flow of his handwriting, simple and precise strokes with no hint of uncertainty.

"Don't touch it, Mudblood," A harsh voice snarled at her.

"Excuse me?!" Her eyes shot up to be met by a cold, dead glare. His dark eyes were pitiless in the low light.

"I can smell your filth from here," Tom's lip curled up in disgust. He rose up to his feet faster than she could process the pure hatred.

She protested, raising her chin to his looming height. "What gives you the –"

"Avert your eyes, you mewing quim, when you speak to me," His voice rose and he advanced on her. "I shall be addressed as _Lord_ Voldemort."

Hermione recoiled as if she had been slapped.

He reached out towards her, "Your parasitic breed of scum will –"

A bang and a crack caused the walls to shudder.

* * *

Tom woke with a jolt.

He cringed immediately, feeling a fresh shock of pain rip through his head and a short burst of stars across his finish. Grimacing, his hand went to his head while he blinked rapidly, adjusting to the darkness.

Once he got past the throbbing in his skull, he could hear the oppressive stillness in the flat. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The over sink light was left on. He pushed himself up by his elbows, not entirely sure how he got to laying a different direction on the couch.

A glance at the clock told him it was a little after 3am. Judging by the way the flat door was left open, he doubted Hermione was in her room. Wearily, he pushed himself up onto his feet, feeling a distinctly familiar ache in his body that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He followed the warm glow of light coming from out the flat door, downstairs in the store.

He lumbered down the stairs slowly, using the railing on the first few steps until he grew confident. "Hermione?" He called out at the bottom.

"Over here," Her voice drew him to the front of the store, where she sat on a stool hunched over the counter with a pile of paperwork.

Seeing her with a hard expression and distrustful eyes brought it back to him. Her quill remained frozen in mid-air, watching him. He didn't see the way her hand under the counter eased towards her wand.

"Did you stun me?" He wondered, rubbing at his temples. A little too much pressure another stab of pain and wince.

"Yes," She replied unapologetically. "You were a bit _irritable_ when you woke up."

He stopped when he realized her eyes weren't exactly inviting him up to the counter to join her.

"Right. Quick thinking," He commended her barely above a mutter. Hermione's shoulders dropped a fraction. "But why I do feel like you split my head like firewood?"

"You fell when I stunned you," She explained. It wasn't technically a lie, but she left out the part about the accidental _Protego_ that threw him against the wall when he tried to grab her before she stunned him.

"Ah," He pulled his hand from his hair and Hermione saw the dark, tacky liquid that came with his fingers.

Instantly, her expression dissolved before him and she stood up straight, wide-eyed and dropping her quill. "Come here," A twist of guilt ripped through her faster than how she could understand the way face and demeanor of a man could be carried so differently in such a short time.

He seemed confused, but obliged. She slid off her stool and pushed it towards him, "Sit."

Once when he was seated and she standing were they at the same height. He tried to follow her movements as she went behind him, but the muscle pang in his neck decided otherwise.

Sure enough, there was a thin crimson trail at the nape of his neck. "Oh Merlin, I'm sorry," She blurted out in a rush. "Your hair is so dark, I didn't even see the blood earlier." Her fingers quickly parted the thick locks, which weren't nearly as coarse as she expected, to inspect the wood.

"I'll live, Hermione," He grumbled halfheartedly, but he didn't try to stop her. He placed his hands and elbows against the countertop, tilting his head forward while he heard her mutter a healing spell. His skin itched with the sensation of the skin pulling itself back together and Hermione watched the trail of blood on his neck recede to where it came from.

"How…" He wondered if there was anything else he missed in his memory. "far did he get?"

"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle," Her tone was defensive, but not nearly as cool as before.

Tom frowned, staring aimlessly at the wood grains while he felt her continue to search his scalp for anymore marks.

"Does it happen often?" She asked, feeling unsure how to respond to him at this point.

"It's getting less frequent," He kept his shoulders still instead of shrugging. "You-Know-Who still catches me off guard sometimes. I can consciously fight it off."

"You-Know-Who?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"It's what I call the diadem fragment," He replied, focusing more on her fingers sliding through his hair instead of the motive behind her questions.

They paused and her fingertips curled into his scalp.

"It's a trigger," The realization dawned on her. "The name is a trigger. That's why you didn't want me to call you it before."

Tom smirked, "Ten points to Miss Granger."

Her fingers started moving again and he allowed his eyes to close lightly.

"What do you call the other one?" Her curiosity got to her.

"Riddle," His voice was low, smooth and relaxed. She had trouble believing it was the same one from earlier. "My professors always called on me by my last name."

Hermione's hand frozen when she noticed she was touching him longer than what was appropriate. He either didn't notice or choose not to say anything.

"Better now?" She asked, pulling her hands away.

"Much," He agreed, opening his eyes. The sharp pain was gone, even the stiffness in his neck. He turned towards her and she was reminded of the burn on his cheek from her wand.

"Wait," She stopped him, thoughtlessly reaching her hand out. Tom tensed, but didn't move while the pad of her thumb brushed over his skin. He felt the tingle and he didn't need a mirror to know it was healed.

"Wandless?" His eyes lit up with intrigue.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded, "I'm learning." Realizing the uneasiness in her wasn't necessarily fear induced did terrible things for the anxiety in her being. She forced herself to step away from him and looked away from his unblinking inquisitive gaze.

"The things You-Know-Who said…" She changed the subject, knowing it was playing with fire. But she had to steer things back to familiar territory. "Do you agree with him?"

"Of course," It fell from his lips naturally, but almost immediately his expression scrunched up. "Maybe, I don't know. They're all me, a piece of me at least…"

He suddenly seemed very interested in the wood stain of the counter.

Hermione frowned. "But?" She sensed the word hanging in the air.

"He carries on and on, and _on_ ," A fingernail picked at a bur while he shrugged. "It's utterly repetitive and the logic leaves something to be desired."

"Well, don't hold it against the Purebloods," She muttered dryly. "It's not the inbred dolts' fault they could only come up with one decent slur."

Tom's expression deadpanned and his lips twisted into a thin line. A few tortured twitches lasted before he couldn't fight the grin any longer. His shoulders started to shake before the laughter came out.

" _Now_ , you've really set it him off," The twistedness of his amusement only emphasized the contrast in his pale features lighting up.

"Just make sure he's not the one waking me up tomorrow, okay?" She decided she needed to get to sleep before her exhausted mind started seeing more than just an endearing smile.

"Of course," He sobered up, but his demeanor wasn't nearly as somber as it was when he first came downstairs.

"Good night, Tom," She bid him before heading towards the stairs.

At the first step, she chanced a glance back at him. Of all the unexpectedness of the day, maybe not all of it would be utterly awful, she thought.

"Good night, Hermione."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Slowing things down a bit to focus on Tom and Hermione with this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it. The reviews are still broken, but keep posting them. I get the email notifications for them, so I can read and respond to them. Special thanks to Lilura Maeva, Elzie, JuliSt, Shakari, sandragalusic, and ndavis77 for your words of encouragement and support. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	13. Chapter 13

"Twenty minutes, Tom!" Hermione shouted through the bathroom door. How he had managed to get in there before she did she didn't know, but she wasn't expecting to start her morning like this. "And you better be out of there!"

Even with the water running, she could hear his laughter through the door.

"I assure you, Miss Granger," His reply was muffled but full of cheek. "My first shower in sixty years will _not_ be less than twenty minutes."

"Don't you dare think about using up all the hot water!" Hermione huffed, fighting the urge to stomp her foot in frustration.

She raised her fist to bang on the door again, but it didn't make contact.

The door whipped open and Hermione gaped at a very shirtless, very smug looking Tom.

"I'll tell you what _I am_ thinking," His smirk was purely predatory while his eyes passed over her. He leant against the doorframe with his wrist above his head, "Come in here, forget the hot water and show me something else I've missed all these years."

Hermione's wandering gaze snapped up to his in an instant. Flabbergasted shock twisted into unrestricted disgust, "Ugh!"

Tom grinned broadly at her flushed cheeks, but didn't see the wand.

* * *

Tom woke with a start.

His head rose off the pillow from the couch, makeshift bed in the living room. He blinked realizing it was still morning. He was still in the same state of half way undress he noted. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he looked around the flat.

Through the entryway of the kitchen, he could see Hermione seated calmly at the small dinette table. Her legs were crossed as she sipped at tea and idly read the morning _Prophet_. Her hair was pulled back in a damp braid.

The little witch had stunned him again.

He could feel the humidity in the air and caught the faint waft of shampoo from the bathroom.

"The hot water is gone, isn't it?" He called out.

"Yep," Hermione popped the 'p' loudly with a proud smirk and didn't even look up.

Tom let out a groan and flopped back against the pillow. He genuinely had been looking forward to that.

At the noise, Hermione chanced a glance over her mug and saw him rubbing his hands over his face into his hair. She quickly adverted her eyes before he could catch her staring again.

"For what it's worth," He spoke, lacking the earlier crudeness. If anything he sounded a little bit aggravated, "That disparaging sense of humor –"

"Riddle's a git, I know," Hermione interrupted him, as if she was simply commenting on the weather. "Put some clothes on and get something to eat. We have places to be today."

* * *

She didn't dare tell him, but she appreciated Tom that day.

Other than having to stop to calm the nausea after his first Side-Along Apparate in his new body, he didn't drag her down. He didn't act like the typical wizards she had gotten used to when she dragged him into Muggle London. He wasn't stopping and gawking at all the Muggle fashions, technology and transportation. As much as she adored Mr. Weasley, she only had the patience to explain how a microwave worked so many times.

Instead, Tom took everything in stride. He spoke very little as they weaved through the crowded sidewalks. While his expression was drawn into a deadpan, she noticed his eyes darted around. They weren't afraid, they denoted every object with a keen interest, as if cataloguing it for later musing.

From afar, they looked like a newly found couple. She kept her arm linked tightly against his, tugging him when they changed direction. He didn't bother asking why. Her eyes darted back to him more frequently than it should have.

Her foot stepped off the sidewalk.

A horn blared and a rush of gleaming black metal approached.

An arm reached around her and her weight was pulled back by her waist. She let out a profane swear that was lost in the taxi cab continuing down the street. She stumbled to regain her balance. She turned to him, wide-eyed and flushed.

"Might I suggest you spend less time jabbing your wand into my kidney and more watching where you're going?" He teased her with a smirk, stormy grey lights lit up with the sudden excitement.

"Right, like I'm going to let my guard down around you," Hermione spat out stubbornly. She wanted to step away from, but she didn't want to display the wand held to his head.

Tom let out a snort of laughter. "Where am I going to go?" He made a point of waving a hand around them. "As you so kindly pointed out earlier, Miss Granger, I have no identity, no money and no magic."

She figured it out his tell then. It wasn't so much as the way he addressed her by Miss Granger, but it was his eyes. They held a certain glint to, as if the very world amused him and he couldn't be touched by it. It wasn't necessarily the pure simmering hate and rage as the other one. Don't get her wrong, it could still be quite dangerous, but it was more playful.

Mischievous, she decided.

"Alright, Riddle," She decided to draw a hand in this game. "I'll ease up…" She paused to let herself smirk up at him. "If you keep You-Know-Who away from Tom for the rest of the day." Merlin knew she didn't want that disgusting bile coming out at the wrong time.

Tom pursed his lips, giving a moment's thought. "Hm, I don't see enough incentive," He smirked.

"What will it take?" Hermione frowned.

Tom's eyebrows went up.

"No."

"Not even –"

"Don't be gross."

"Fine, dinner."

"What?" She blurted out ungracefully.

"I want to pick what food we get."

She just shook her head in disbelief, "Fine. Done. Give me Tom back."

He gave her a broad triumphant grin for a moment. Then it was like watching a bad chill shudder through him. His eyes closed and rolled his neck before the sensation passed. With a sigh, he re-opened his eyes. The glint was gone, he looked tired and a touch agitated.

"You good?" She asked in a softer voice while slowly slipping her wand back up her sleeve.

He nodded.

"Let's go," She tugged on his arm to resume walking.

* * *

"What about the other soul fragments?" She asked while they sat next to each other on the underground train. Even with his momentary confusion at the ticket turnstiles, they hadn't missed the train. "From the other horcruxes? What happened to them?"

"You want to talk about that _here_?" Tom raised an eyebrow at her, keeping their conversation casually low.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "The Muggle's here don't care," She pointed out. There were a meager sprinkling of only about a dozen in the car. "They'll just think we're talking about a strange film."

Whether he agreed or not, he didn't say anything. He just looked away, his lips set in a thin line and his jaw tense.

"It is part of the agreement," She reminded him stubbornly. "To work with me."

"I know," He acknowledged begrudgingly.

They rolled through another station before he did anything. Casually, he lifted his arm and spread it across the back her seat. She tensed at the action, but realized he only did it to lean closer and keep his voice down. She pointed kept her stare out the window in front of them. With the darkness of the tunnels and the lights of the train, a near perfect reflection stared back at them.

"Well, there's the soul the fragments were torn from," His eyes watched her through the same window. His lips were poised near her ear, as if whispering sweet nothings and not stories about dark magic. "The one that Potter… dealt with. Let's call him the Original."

When he saw her nod, he continued on. "I told you how the first horcrux was created and you know how it was destroyed."

"Wait, was that true?" She interrupted. "It was an accident?"

"Irrelevant," He dismissed without even blinking.

She perked up, enticed. "No, it's completely –"

"Are you going to continue interrupting or let me finish?" He gave her a scowl.

She opened her mouth and he raised a single brow at her. She wrinkled her nose and clamped her mouth shut.

"Good," The corner of his mouth quirked up. "But yes, it was an accident. As I was saying, you also know how my horcrux was created. I was contained in that ring from that point until your dear," He sneered the word, "Headmaster destroyed it."

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, really wanting to question him more about what he meant by _contained_. It could wait for another day, she reminded herself.

"I didn't know the circumstances of the other horcruxes, but I could _feel_ them when the Original tore the fragments. I only _knew_ them after I was freed," He explained carefully. He didn't know how to describe what it was like learning the thoughts, the feelings, and the actions of a life that was very much his… but wasn't.

"Riddle and You-Know-Who are here with me now," He continued, letting his eyes move away from her and wandering absently. "The locket and the cup are out there… drifting," It was the best word he could find. They weren't within reach, but maybe if he stretched…

"Why don't you seek them out?" She wondered aloud, noting the longing in his expression which nearly masked the layer of apprehension.

"I'm not strong enough," He replied. _Yet_.

"Why didn't I hear them before?" Hermione allowed herself to turn her head, to study the profile of his face and the many facets of him she was struggling to keep up with. "In your thoughts."

"Occlumency," He answered with a half shrug. "It's more the practice of the mind than the skill of magic."

Hermione doubted Harry ever stood much of a chance against Voldemort's Legilimency then.

"And the others?" She pressed before she could get lost in that line of that.

"The Original, Potter's fragment… and Nagini too, I have trouble sensing that one, I think got dragged with them," He recounted carefully. "They're stuck… not quite here, nor beyond."

She remembered Harry telling her and Ron about his vision shortly after the war. It had been many years since she gave it any thought. Suddenly, she felt very tired with the burden of awareness coming down on her.

"Then it was all a waste," She realized in a hollow whisper. She stared at herself in the train window, looking ghostly white in the florescent lights. "All of that," She felt her stomach churn painfully. "And we _still_ didn't destroy him."

Tom made a mildly offended expression, but kept his gaze stern on her. He spoke gentle, but firm, "You can't actually _destroy_ a soul, Hermione."

He kept going when she gave him nothing but a confused look. "There's many ways to tear the soul. Even the Muggles know, with the silly notion that enough apologies will forgive all sin and let it mend," He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Tearing the soul isn't natural and it takes an unnatural act to contain it, but that's not the purpose of horcruxes."

"Then what is the point?" Her voice was weak and she surprised herself with being able to form the words.

"Horcruxes are not meant to protect the creator from others," Tom stated, watching himself in the reflection of the train window. It faltered when the train passed utility lights in the tunnel. A flicker as quick as the different shadows of a man that passed through him. "Horcruxes are meant to protect the creator from himself."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This was a fun chapter. I like to mix in the lighter moments with the heavier stuff like that conversation at the end here. The different personalities of Tom are just fun to play with. The conversation on the train is a big one for me because it's a lot of the basis of the inspiration of the story; exploring the idea of what happens to a soul that's torn into pieces and unable to move beyond from limbo like we saw at the end of the Deathly Hallows. On another note, the reviews are fixed! Yay! Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	14. Chapter 14

"Wake up, little witch."

Hermione's head came up with a jerk, startled chocolate eyes darting about.

* * *

The day had passed by both quickly and exhaustingly.

Once they got off the train, they met a point of contact at the newspaper stand outside the train station. The POC didn't say anything more than to slip Hermione an address.

On the way to the address, Tom had finally asked her why they didn't just Apparate there. She responded that she didn't want to risk magical activity in all Muggle neighborhoods.

The address led to an apartment in a neighborhood that Tom held a thinly veiled scowl for it. The times were different, the style of buildings were different, some marred with graffiti. The vehicles were different, but many damaged and faded. The overall atmosphere was bleak and tugged at his memory. At least there were no more air raids.

The apartment was another man who regarded them with suspicion. He tried to speak to Tom first, but he hung back and let Hermione take the lead. The conversation was short, they weren't even invited inside. Hermione handed a bulky envelope over to the man and she was given another address.

The second apartment, they were led inside by a scrawny man, rather barely older than a boy, in an oversized hoodie with a wiry scruff trying to be passed off as a beard.

"Eddie tells me you paid for full work up?" The guy who didn't introduce himself asked of Hermione while Tom wandered around the apartment living room. His expression gave nothing away, but she could sense he was both agitated and intrigued. "Not just a quick print?"

"That's right," Hermione acknowledged while she noted the humming of his computer and several printing machines that made the already cramped living space downright claustrophobic.

"You crossing international borders?"

Hermione frowned. "What's it to you?"

He sighed all too quickly, as if he was all too used to such defensive reactions. "Listen, I don't care what you're up to or what you're into. Leave me out of it. I just need to know if you're crossing borders so I know how much these papers will be scrutinized."

Hermione hesitated in thought. Her eyes darted over to the other side of the room, Tom was watching the interaction from the window. If only this Muggle had any idea who his back was turned to, she thought. "Yes, we will be," She replied.

"By sea or air?"

"Air," She supplied curtly.

"What country…? Not my business, I know. I need to know what visas to get."

"America," Hermione gave reluctantly, not wanting to admit he had a point.

"Alright, real deal it is. I need four weeks."

"Two weeks," Hermione shook her head.

"Four weeks," He remained firm.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Three."

"Fine, but it'll cost ya."

"Deal," She said quickly before he changed his mind. They hung around long enough for the Muggle to take a few sets of photos. Shortly after that, they left the apartment and headed back to the train station. It was while riding that train the weariness set in.

* * *

"Our stop is next, Hermione," He whispered next to her ear. His arm was slung along the back of her chair again. He was way too at ease with invading her personal space, she thought.

"I nodded off," Hermione understood suddenly, why she felt the swoop of her head falling forward a moment ago.

A light smirk stared back at her in the glare of the train window. It didn't help the irresponsible panic that fleeted through her.

"And you're still here?" Hermione turned towards him, trying to ignore the way his height looming over her was akin to being trapped in a predator's gaze.

If their stop was next, which one glance to the LED display above the doors confirmed it, then she was out of it for several stops in between. Several opportunities he could have gotten up without a second thought. Instead, he was lounging casually with his feet kicked out as if he owned the whole line.

The smirk faded and he just cocked his head slightly at her. "Have the thought ever occurred to you, Hermione," His voice wasn't demeaning, which surprised her further. "That I'm right where I want to be?"

Hermione swallowed thickly. If she were a fool, she would believe them to be sweet words from a handsome man. But she knew what laid behind the face he wore. The reality was the brightest witch of her age was right next to the darkest wizard of her age.

* * *

They walked mostly in silence when they reached ground level, heading towards the Apparation point.

Tom gave a loud sigh and paused in his strides.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, turning to him and stopping in her steps as well. She hadn't answered his question and he barely said a word since.

"Riddle's decided what he wants to eat," Tom announced, not looking at Hermione.

She followed his gaze, wanting to know what could make him openly grimace in such a way. As soon as she did, her own quickly joined him. "Oh, honestly," She groaned, recognizing the bright gold arches. "Does he even know what he's asking for?"

Tom's eyes went up and his shoulders dropped. "Sometimes, it's best to just indulge the petulant child and move on."

* * *

He questioned her that night before she disappeared into her room. "How is it," He began to ask. "You're so accepting of leaving?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, "I can't hide you from the Ministry right under their nose forever."

"Even at the cost of abandoning everything near and dear to you?" He challenged with a sneer.

Hermione didn't rise to the bait. She just stared at him coolly before replying, "Don't flatter yourself into thinking _you're_ the reason why I can leave."

The easiest plan to execute was the one that had been planned and considered many times before.

* * *

Three days passed and they fell into a routine of sorts. Hermione interacted with Tom the most, but she still had her moments with the other two. She was becoming quite quick with the _Stupefy._ She didn't spare a second thought to stun him as soon as she caught a hint of Voldemort in his eyes, usually either late at night or early in the morning, or Riddle if he got carried away.

One morning, Voldemort awoke, nearly shouting about Mudblood filth. He barely got into a tirade about her proper place kneeling before him before she stunned him. That afternoon, Riddle decided to make an appearance to remind her of other things she could do on her knees.

Tom woke up the third time on the couch and spent the rest of the day trying to ignore those episodes.

He spent the first part of the day going through her current files and case studies for the hospitals she worked with. After that, she typically left to one of the institutions or went downstairs to the shop. Sometimes he joined her downstairs, but he always made himself scarce when there were customers around.

He glanced up from his spot on the couch one afternoon when he noticed her lingering after eating lunch. Of course the little witch had a book open in front of her while she ate, but now the plate was long since empty and she was still there. He smirked, pausing from the book in his own hands. He had found a few seldom shelves in her shop that wouldn't try to curse or bite him.

"You can join me," He gestured towards the other end of the couch, which was transfigured back to its normal state during the day.

He smirked at the wide-eyed response he got. She reminded him of a frightened doe. Except he knew better than to be fooled by such innocence.

"I'm not going to hiss and bite at you," He couldn't help himself.

He saw her mouth twist to the side and her nose wrinkled, the way she always tried to fight a grin.

"Fine," She gave in. She rose from her seat and took a moment to put her dishes away before joining him. His attention was already back in his book while she tucked her legs under her and leant against the opposite armrest.

She stole a few more glances at him between pages. Sometimes it was the simplest gestures about him that threw her off. Like the way he often ran a finger absently back and forth along his bottom lip while he read. After having such a firm, fixed image of Voldemort for so long, it was unsettling to see different angles.

* * *

" _Crucio_."

The spell sliced through her as roughly and as coldly as the blade against her arm.

A high-pitched feminine voice cackled in the background as she begged for it to stop.

It took so long for it to stop.

She knew it wouldn't until it was finished.

It never did, no matter how much she just wanted to wake up.

* * *

Her body gave a jerk as she awoke abruptly. She felt the film of sweat against her chest and brow line. Disoriented, but very much beneath the covers of her bed, she realized it was her mattress moving that woke her.

"Tom!" She exclaimed at the dark haired man settling into lounging on the top of her comfort with his back against the headboard. "How did you get in here?"

"You left the door open," He simply answered while eying a few books in his hand. He had one knee tucked up and the other leg stretched out, shoes kicked off.

Hermione tried to shrug off the déjà vu and didn't bother asking him why he felt it was okay to come into her room. He was always touching stuff with no regard to privacy.

"What happened?" She noticed she was still wearing the same clothes from earlier.

"You fell asleep," He explained succinctly while reading the back of one book. "You started to talk. And thrash, I moved you in here." He didn't bother mentioning his ribs were still a little sore from her elbow.

Hermione felt herself flush with mortification but he kept going.

"Then you screamed," He hesitated on the next words, trying to appear nonchalant. "So I stayed, calmed you." Of course, just sitting next to a sleeping girl was hardly entertaining. He did get a good chance to observe her room, better than he did as a serpent.

It didn't surprise him to find a set of bookshelves in this room as well. He did nose curiously through the several bottles of Dreamless Draught Potion on her dresser, open ones too. The rest of room was pretty Muggle with the exception of her trunk from Hogwarts and a couple moving photographs.

"How?" Hermione was dubious and rather shocked at the suggestion that he calmed her.

"Does it matter?" Tom countered evasively.

Hermione opened her mouth, but thought against her first response. She didn't really want to know, because it was too hard to wrap her mind around. No, she was definitely better off not knowing exactly how he had done it because then she would have to acknowledge that it happened. That he was capable of doing it.

"I never expected something so human from you," The words fell from her lips faster than she could stop them.

Tom rolled his eyes at her, only then looking up from the books to scowl at her. "Give me _some_ credit, Granger."

Hermione deadpanned, blinked a few times before the giggle broke out across her expression.

"What?" Tom frowned at her sudden hysterics. "How is that funny?"

Hermione shook her head, trying to smother the laugh behind her hand. "It's not…" She tried to force herself to breath. "Oh lord, you just reminded me of Malfoy. He said that to me so many times after the war."

Tom's face scrunched up with obvious disgust. " _Malfoy_ … That parasite still lives?" He vividly recalled the memory of anger at his multiple failures.

Hermione nodded, starting to settle down. "Yeah, I saw him a few times at the Ministry. He was working as a court reporter on some of the Wizengamot trials I testified in. I think it was the only job they would let him have."

"A court reporter," Tom repeated incredulously before his head gave a slow shake. "That's demeaning, even for Lucius."

"No," Hermione corrected, "Not him. Draco."

Tom's expression eased up and he gave a shrug. "Hmph, equally useless," He muttered under his breath before looking back at the books.

Hermione gave a grin at his flippant dismissal. She opted to relax on her side, tucking her head against the pillow while she watched him.

"You should read that one," She gestured towards the book in his left hand.

" _Pet Sematary_?" Tom read the title aloud dubiously. With the handful of novels by the same author in his hand, he gave no wonder to why she had nightmares all the time just from reading the summaries.

"Mhm, I read it right after I got you," She started to settle down into the warm comfort of her blankets. She smirked, "You-Know-Who would hate it. It's written by a Muggle. I think Riddle would like the irony of it."

She watched the way corners of his lips picked up into a small smile.

He turned towards her. "And what about me?" He asked, his eyes weren't nearly as lighthearted as the smile.

It made her stop before carefully replying, rather honestly, "You would enjoy it, Tom."

It was a simple enough answer and she was glad he didn't press for more while he set the other books aside. He eased back against the headboard and didn't waste another moment before opening the cover. She watched him as he began to read. As if there was a chance when he turned each page she would gain a new layer of understanding.

She compartmentalized things.

That was how she was able to cope with the worst of nightmares and memories. Like sitting through those trials. She identified the problem or the source of conflict, categorized and filed it away deep in her mind, smothering it. She tried to take the worst ones and shove them so far down that they couldn't breathe. She had to be methodical, she was a researcher by nature. Voldemort was easy to compartmentalize as a monster. Even Riddle could be placed in an overly ambitious, but inexcusable ego.

She didn't have a category for Tom yet. It scared her.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A little bit fluffy at the end there, but I just like writing the interactions between these so much. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	15. Chapter 15

An Order meeting was coming up and she knew it wouldn't be an ordinary meeting for her. Just the thought drove her anxiety up. She needed something to distract herself with. Something that didn't involve just reading words off a page, something didn't involve death and horcruxes.

"Riddle!" She called out, noticing the way Tom's expression gave the most subtle of twitches every now and then for the past hour. Like trying to ignore a mosquito. "Stop tormenting Tom. I need him to teach me wandless Apparition."

The twitch ceased, but his eyebrows rose instead at that. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is," She huffed at the bemused look he gave her. "I don't honestly need to start listing the benefits being able to escape situations where I'm disarmed, do I?"

Tom didn't pass up a chance to get out of her flat for a while either. Even if it was wandering off into the Forbidden Forest to practice.

* * *

Molly Weasley was standing in the kitchen, charming the dishes to soap and water when she noticed the billow of black smoke. Unlike a normal bonfire, it moved in a determined path across her vision.

"Arthur!" She called out.

"We see it!" He replied back immediately from the living room. "Fred, Ginny, Fleur cover the back with Molly."

Several sets of other footsteps went for the front door with wands raised. Outside the Order members poured onto the Burrow porch as a column of black smoke descended upon the front lawn. Arthur Weasley had his wand held out next to Harry, Ron and Bill Weasley.

The smoke dissipated to reveal Hermione Granger, albeit with a stumble and her hands out to regain her balance.

"It worked!" A giddy smile broke out on her face as she looked around her and even looked back up towards the sky. "Merlin's balls, it actually worked!"

Ron was the first one to recover from his shock first. Whether it was from her vulgar language or appearance, the four men still held their wands up. "Hermione?!"

She looked up from her shaking hands. The adrenaline rushed through her and she could barely stand still. Sure, she had tested it a few times in the woods with Tom, but nearly at such a distance. "Hi Ron, Harry… Bill, Mr. Weasley," She had the good sense to seem a little sheepish at their alarm.

"Scare us half to death, why don't ya?" The redhead balked while the young witch walked up the length of the lawn towards them. "What are you doing flying around like a bloody Death Eater?"

Hermione gave an exaggerated eye roll. "Death Eater! Honestly, Ron, it was just wandless Apparition," She scoffed. "Dumbledore did it all the time."

"His wasn't nearly as creepy," Ron grumbled as she joined them under the awning.

"Prat," Hermione muttered. She heard a snicker from Bill. "Well?" She rose her eyebrows at the Weasley men still blocking the front door, although having lowered their wands.

"Wait," Harry interrupted, the only one he still kept his wand firmly pointed at her. She was a little taken back by his serious, suspicious expression.

"Second year, we made Polyjuice Potion. Who did you change into?" He challenged.

Hermione sighed and her face twisted begrudgingly. "I was _supposed_ to change into Millicent," She hesitated. Even all these years later, it was still embarrassing. "But she had cats…"

The tension on the porch eased as quickly as Harry dropped his wand. "Sorry, 'Mione," His green eyes widened apologetically. "It's just –"

"Constant vigilance," She forgave him instantly. "I know."

Even as they filed into the house, Hermione proceeded to explain to Ron that it really wasn't all that hard to do if he applied himself. The principles of it were so similar to regular Apparition but just required more discipline with wandless magic.

* * *

She wasn't the last one to show up for the meeting. McGonagall and Aberforth arrived shortly after and they got started right away. Kingsley and a few others weren't able to make it to this one. While sitting in the Weasley's living room, cramped on the couch next to Bill and Fleur, the excitement of her accomplishment faded with the realization of what she needed to do.

Honestly, it was hard to follow along in the conversation. It was hard to pretend to care about their discussion on the latest whereabouts of Theodore Nott while she was living with three living horcruxes.

She waited for a lull in the conversation. Admittedly, when it came, all the thoughts about her carefully planned speech left her mind. "I'm leaving," She blurted out.

Silence answered her with a room full of stares.

"I've accepted a six month sabbatical, with an option to extend, at the Wizarding Adelaide University," She looked around at the mix of shocked and intrigued expressions. "To study the anecdotal effects of Fire Belly Black Snake venom with the Cruciatus Curse."

Awkward didn't seem to justice to the sensation she felt then.

Molly was the first one to break it. Although, choked with painful politeness, "Congratulations, dear. I'm sure that'll be some very interesting work. When do you start?"

"End of the month," She replied, forcing to keep her voice even.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron startled the room with his outburst. "When were you going to tell us?"

"Now?" She suggested lamely. "I only just found about that it." Of course, she knew by us, he didn't mean the room full of most of his family and the Order. She knew he meant just him and Harry.

She muttered an excusal and went for the kitchen. She didn't stick around to listen to Molly chastising Ron. Harry got up from his seat and followed after Hermione.

He caught up with her pulling a Butterbeer out of the fridge.

"Australia, huh?" He said, watching her twist off the cap and take a deep gulp.

She nodded, wiping a smidge of foam from her lips, but avoided his eyes. She knew it would hurt a bit, but they would be mostly filled with concern.

"Are you sure that you're ready to go back there," He questioned carefully. "After…" His words hung in the air, like the reminder of blood stained walls and that foul stench.

"I'll be fine, Harry," The lie fell from her lips easily. She wished it was the first time she had lied to him.

Truthfully, that lie had been falling from her lips for a long time since the war. At the end of the day, they weren't school children anymore. They grew up and grew apart. He had his own to worry about now.

* * *

"I told them I was leaving for Australia," She announced that night while they sat in her kitchen, eating dinner. He knew that she had no intention of taking them to Australia.

"They didn't even doubt it," She bitterly stabbed her fork into a green bean. Sure, they had their questions. She did her best to answer them before the anxiety got to her and she left. But they were never suspicious.

"Naturally," Tom answered her, a smooth calming baritone. "You've given them no reason to not trust you."

That smooth voice that iced her veins like poison.

She hated him for being alive. She hated him for putting her in this position. She hated the way he didn't care. Most of all, she hated the way she felt more alive in the last six months than the last six years.

* * *

Tom gave a scowl while standing in the bathroom at the mirror. Lime green. There was no angle it wasn't blinding at.

"They're standard Healer robes," Hermione smirked from the doorway with her arms folded over her chest, dressed in similar robes. "You did get an E at least on your NEWTs, right?"

Tom just gave her a withering glare.

* * *

After talking to a dummy at Purge and Dowse, visiting Healers Granger and Marvolo signed in at the front desk of St. Mungo's and rode the lift to third level, Spell Damage.

Tom hung back and followed Hermione as she checked in on some of the long term patients in the ward. He said very little, only sparingly offering observations or minute suggestions as she worked. He wasn't entirely pleasant or pleased to be there. He didn't bother return polite courtesies from other Healers in the hallways.

"Stop scowling," Hermione elbowed him with a whisper before coming to the room for her last patients of the day.

She hesitated outside the door when she spotted through the glass window that someone was in the room already. She recognized the lanky and tall build of the man sitting next to the two patient beds. Hermione knocked on the door before opening it and easing inside. "Neville?"

"Oh," He picked his head up and turned to the two. "Hey, Hermione."

"How are they today?" She asked as she stepped into the room. His eyes darted over to the raven hair man behind her, but with only brief mild interest.

"Quiet," Neville answered, rising up to his feet. "Mum was awake earlier."

Hermione nodded, glancing towards to two sleeping patients. Their skin was sickly pale with hollow cheeks and dark lines under their eyes. Their limbs were small and underdeveloped from their long stay.

"Oh," She cleared her throat, trying to remember manners. "This is Healer Marvolo," She gestured towards Tom. His lips were set in a thin line, standing back respectfully and made no move to shake Neville's hand nor Neville. "I called him in for assistance with your parents' case."

"Right," Neville gave politely. He shifted his weight on his feet before saying, "I'll wait in the hallway." He moved towards the door, following in a familiar routine.

* * *

After he left, Hermione didn't bat an eye to throw a silencing charm on the door for good measure. Another flick of her wand conjured her patient notes that hovered in the air shortly behind her while she approached the female patient's bedside.

Tom remained at the foot of the beds and squinted at two figures for a measure of time. The young man, who appeared to be close to Hermione's age, seemed faintly familiar to him. But he couldn't put his finger on it.

Just like the two in front of them. "They seem familiar," He spoke aloud, curiosity finally winning over. "Who are they?"

Hermione sighed, but didn't look at Tom. "The Longbottoms," Her wand was moving over Alice's torso, faint diagnostic lights coming from it.

"What is this?" He sneered suddenly. The harshness of voice cutting into her like a knife. "What, you think parading victims of my followers is supposed to affect me? You think a few bandages and scars is going to have me quivering with remorse? Let's reform the Dark Lord into a docile hippogriff, is that your goal?"

He only stopped in his advance on her when she whirled on him with her wand in still in hand, white knuckled.

"You selfish bastard," Her eyes flashed dangerously, going toe-to-toe with him. "I don't really give a damn about what _you_ think."

He raised an eyebrow challengingly at her, but she kept going.

"I know your soul is so torn up that you're incapable of feeling things such as remorse and pity," She spat out viciously. "You wouldn't know what to do with it if it reached up and slapped you."

His hands clenched into fists, itching to reach up and strangle her. But the wand a few inches from jabbing him in the sternum stopped him.

"I'm doing this," She gestured with her other hand to Frank and Alice. "For myself, because I need to know. I _have_ to know."

"Need to know what?" Tom questioned, each word slow and strained.

"If I'm going to be the one in that bed someday!" Her voice rose.

Tom scoffed immediately, "Don't be ridiculous –" It wasn't even conceivable to him.

"It isn't! I've even been tortured by the same witch –"

"You won't," Tom rolled his eyes. "Bella's technique was sloppy. Enthused, but sloppy –" There was no way the bright witch before him could be reduced to the decrepit shells around them.

"It doesn't matter!" She shouted in frustration. " _I_ need to know, Tom. I need to know how many more is it going to take. How many more times can I take it before _I'm_ gone." She could try to heal the physical symptoms. She could make things a little more comfortable in the long run, but that wasn't what really scared her at the end of the day.

Whatever retort Tom had died on his lips as slowly as he closed his mouth. The anger in his eyes began to morph.

"Now," Hermione forced a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Are you going to help me or are you too stuck on being him?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	16. Chapter 16

As the days ticked away one by one, Hermione should have known things would come to a head. Tom's outburst in the hospital had gone by with little resolution. Each day that gave way to being a little bit closer to leaving her home racketed up her anxiety tenfold. Living in close quarters with someone that embodied the very monster she despised and a stranger she knew nothing about only drove it further. She should have known the nightmares would be worse given everything.

* * *

It was her scream that woke him out of his sleep. It sliced through him and reverberated through the hollow flat.

"Hermione?!" Tom called out, immediately wiping the covers off of himself from the couch. He ignored the rush to his head from rising up so suddenly and stumbled in the darkness towards her bedroom door.

The screaming continued.

He tried to the doorknob, but it didn't budge an inch. "Hermione!" He tried to yell through the door, but even in his gut he knew it was in vain.

He tried twisting the knob and throwing his shoulder against the door.

He tried banging on the door.

He tried calling out to her.

He tried throwing his full weight against the door. Repeatedly.

The screaming didn't stop and the locking charm behind the door wouldn't let his weak Muggle form through. He slid down on the wall in front of her door, pulling at his hair.

He damned her for forgetting her silencing spell. He damned her leaving him unable to do anything about that awful noise.

* * *

When she stirred out of it, her throat was hoarse and her lips chapped. Her hands shook as she got up from her bed and went to her dresser for a mouthful of dreamless draught. She knocked it back returning to bed, determined to salvage a few hours of sleep.

* * *

When she opened her bedroom door at nearly noon that day, she expected to see Tom in the kitchen fixing himself some food and grumbling about her coffee maker. Instead, she was immediately taken back by the crumpled form in front of her door.

His hands were buried in his locks, which compared to their normal impeccable grooming, stuck out in many different ways. She couldn't see his face with the way his head was bowed down. His elbows were against his knees. With his long limbs, his feet were butting up against the opposite wall. She couldn't step over him if she tried to pass through.

"Tom?" She asked in a low voice, slowly reaching for her wand. She didn't know what fragment she would be greeted with but hoped for the best. "What are you doing?"

He started at her voice and Hermione wasn't sure who had worse bags under their eyes.

"Hermione…" He sighed, but fumbled on the words after that. A fretful night of borderline consciousness didn't do much for his thought process. "You," He waved a hand towards her room, "were screaming."

Hermione raised a cool eyebrow, "And?"

"I couldn't get through," He admitted, hating how helpless it sounded.

Hermione's brow furrowed deeply, having no doubt that she was talking to ring, but struggling to understand what his point was. "You know why I lock the doors," She reminded him rather coldly. Like she was going to gamble with being caught off guard.

"I know," Tom gave, tearing his eyes away from her as he stretched his legs and slowly moved to get up from his cramped position. "I just…" He didn't know how to finish the sentence. _I just wish you wouldn't,_ he thought.

For a moment, Hermione had to remind herself the frazzled young man in front of her was as deceptive as his exterior. She reminded herself where he came from. "Since when has a little screaming ever bothered _you_?"

Tom's expression twisted incredulously as he came to his full height in front of her, "Since it became real."

"Real?" Hermione bristled in disbelief, feeling her volume rise. "What do you mean _real_?"

Tom shook his head, "It's not the same when it's just memories –"

" _Don't you dare_!" Hermione was the first one to shout she remembered. "Don't you dare try to act like it didn't happen! You don't get to pretend! Those were real people that he killed, real people he tortured and he _enjoyed_ it!"

"I didn't do those things, Hermione!" He rose to match her shout and the volume of it nearly caused her to step back. Only nearly, she refused to shy away from him. "That was not me," He stabbed a finger against his own chest sharply as the words came out, "I was stuck in that bloody ring –"

"Bollocks!" Hermione swore at him, her hands shook, but she kept her wand at her side. "You don't get to do that! You said it yourself, you're apart of him. _He's you_! Accept it, all of it. You don't get to pick and choose the parts you don't like. Take it all or none of it!"

Whether to protect herself or him, she didn't care. She withdrew and slammed the bedroom door shut in his face and threw up the silencing spell she should have done last night. It didn't block out hearing his yell of frustration and a loud thud against the wall. Unlike the charmed door, the dry wall gave way easily under his fist.

Hermione pressed her back against the door and slid down to the floor. The tears were already slipping over in her eyes before she hit the ground. Her shoulders shook as the sobs came out.

"Please, please…" She whispered to herself, the words cracking in her throat. "Please just let me hate him." She tried to picture red gleaming eyes, blue-veined pale features and slits for nostrils, not a handsome man being crushed by each word she shouted at him. "Let me hate him…"

She heard slamming of the flat door.

It was a few minutes of realizing the flat was silent except for her tears before Hermione realized what that meant. "Oh, no no, _no_ ," She began to moan and staggered up to her feet in a hurry.

She didn't bother changing out of her pajamas. She just grabbed an outer robe and dashed down the stairs. She could accept being spitting mad and any of her personal problems with him, but even she knew letting Tom wander around Hogsmeade by himself was not a good idea.

* * *

She found him in the Three Broomsticks sitting at the bar. At first, his back was to her when she came into the pub. They made a pretty slightly pair, she noticed. Neither had bothered to change, leaving their flannel pants sticking out from under their black outer robes. Thankfully not matching flannel pairs. But for a brief flicker, she was envious he had the sense to put on a real pair of boots instead of dashing out of the flat in slippers as she had. She counted her blessings that it wasn't Hogsmeade weekend and half of the Hogswarts student body wasn't there.

Determined, she made her way up to the bar and claimed the stool next to him. He didn't even look towards her. Instead, he kept staring absently ahead of him while slipping of a tumbler of Firewhiskey. His knuckles were red and already starting to swell.

"Oh, good you're here," He drawled in an emotionless tone. "I don't actually have any money to pay for this."

Hermione momentarily resented his ability to regain his composure so easily and appear so disinterested. With a huff, she fished out the appropriate coins and waved down Rosmerta for a Butterbeer.

"Just one drink," She warned him before thanking the barkeep.

She leaned closer to him while she waited for drink and hissed quietly, "I can deal with a lot of things, but a drunk Dark Lord is _not_ one of them."

Rather than snap at her, Tom closed his eyes and let out a heavy exhale. "Please, Hermione," His glass clunked against the counter. " _Enough_ with the names."

Hermione squinted at him oddly. Before she said anything, Rosmerta came back with her drink. She thanked her and watched the keep back off.

Tom noticed the way the noises around them changed as soon as Hermione got her drink. The few conversations in the bar became a muffled hum and he would bet his drink that she cast a _Muffliato_ under the counter around them.

"You don't know what it's like," He stared at the amber liquid as it swirled around.

"Then tell me," She requested, not nearly as accusatory as she was before.

He hesitated. Should he tell her? Should he really be telling her anything just because she was the first witch he spoke to in over sixty years?

"Sixty years," He sighed and his words came out viciously. "Sixty years, I was stuck in that bloody ring while a shade of my worst qualities traipsed about."

Hermione's head jerked back a bit in surprise, but she didn't interrupt.

"When the ring broke, I remembered everything he did," He scoffed before taking another sip of his drink. "I know what he did, why he did it, but _Merlin_ , his methods were atrocious…" Downright reckless at the end if he were to be so blunt.

"In what way?" She couldn't help herself, her fingers remained frozen on the cool bottle in front of her.

Tom gave a shrug of his shoulders. At first she didn't think he was going to answer her until he pulled out an example. "Blood supremacy is obviously a charged platform, easy to rally the masses around," He stated indifferently. "But by appealing to the Purebloods for their money, he alienated the majority of the wizarding community."

She watched him mull it over a moment, barely daring herself to breath.

"No, it would've been wiser to _target_ the Scared Twenty-Eight, especially their discriminatory economic practices and political corruption. The public would have demanded their vaults be confiscated as reparation and the Ministry reformed," He declared while staring at the wood grain of the bar counter. Obviously, it wasn't as simple as it sounded, but it really wasn't that farfetched either.

Hermione took a long, careful gulp of her beer. She didn't move her eyes away from him. It didn't escape her notice her notice that he simply spoke about strategy. He didn't give away any personal beliefs on Muggles and Muggleborns. She knew better to ask questions she already knew the answer to.

"But?" Hermione didn't even want to agree or disagree with him. She stirred it back to his main point. "The ring broke and then what?"

"I thought I was free," He shrugged morosely. "But then the other two showed up and they've been screaming in my head ever since." A hand rubbed at his temple, as if it could ward away the headache.

Hermione didn't say anything, but she stared at him for a long time.

Briefly, she wondered if this was an elaborate scheme of a horcrux. She remembered Ginny telling her what it was like writing to Riddle in the diary. A charmer, she claimed, that whispered what you wanted to hear and not it's actual desires. But even with that, something wasn't right with Tom in front of her. It just didn't quite fit the bill. She could almost let herself believe he was just another man battling his own demons. Almost.

"I wasn't always obsessed with horcruxes," She said softly. It actually drew Tom to look at her, grey steel laced with intrigue.

"Before we started hunting them," She picked at a fingernail to avoid his gaze. "I Oblivated my parents… to keep them safe. I made them forget they ever had a daughter." She bit her lip to staunch the feelings that memory stirred.

Tom waited for her to continue with an indiscernible mask.

"I sent them to Australia with the suggestion if they ever felt they were being followed, to run and hide," She recalled, thinking she had been clever at the time. "I didn't realize how hard it would be to find them after the war…"

That was when she had the courage to look up at him again. She couldn't get a read on him other than his keen attention. "That's when I learned just how good I am with the Imperius. _Real_ good," She wished she could say she felt guilty about it, but she didn't. "I didn't hurt anyone, I just wanted information from them. Policemen, nurses, neighbors. It took me months to find them again… You want to know how I finally did?"

Tom gave one short nod.

"The smell," She deadpanned. "A neighbor called the police because of the smell coming from their house."

Tom remembered what curse she had said had been used against them. He didn't ask what it was like discovering the bodies. She didn't tell him what it was like not being able to tell where the blood of one ended and the other began. He let his silence of understanding hang in the air.

" _That's_ when I started researching souls," She muttered.

Tom mused her story over thoughtfully. He didn't look particularly disturbed, which she wasn't sure if she found that comforting or not. She recognized that he had probably witnessed that and then some over the years.

"What were your parents like?" He surprised her with the question.

Hermione stiffened, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably. "They were dentists. They met at a Puddlemere game. Opened a practice, had me. They were relieved the day I got my letter, but genuinely happy," She recalled, remembering the relief they had found when they discovered why she was so different.

"They were Muggles," He was so blunt, she hardly found it reassuringly and she didn't think he was trying to comfort her. "The worst they likely ever did was error their taxes. Intact souls move on. They're not here."

His callousness had her knuckles whitening, but she just said carefully. "It's not just their souls I'm worried about," Her eyes darted up to him meaningfully. "A spell here became a curse there and…"

His eyes lit up with a wicked glint. The corner of his mouth tugged up as he finished for her, "Now here you are, torturing unicorns."

Hermione gave him a harsh glare at the reminder. "You're a rightful arse, you know that?"

He just gave a dark grin before hiding it behind another slip of his glass, "You're no pleasant siren yourself."

She shook her head and focused on empty the rest of her bottle. In their mutual silence, her eyes kept wandering back to him.

While watching him empty the rest of his tumbler, a peculiar thought crossed her mind. She had obviously been speaking to the ring fragment all this morning, but this fragment was different than the rest. Granted, she didn't exactly sit around and have tea with diadem fragment, but she had enough interactions to make comparisons to Riddle and You-Know Who.

None of them demonstrated the level of self-awareness that Tom had.

"What if you could separate yourself as your own man?" Hermione blurted the thought aloud as it came to her. She wondered if she could ever see the man in front of her as anything but the younger version of Voldemort. Could she look in those eyes and not see death one day? She wasn't sure.

With the openly confused expression he gave her, it certainly made it a little easier.

"I mean," She tried to clarify while being pretty unsure herself. "If you were able to control the other fragments, assimilate them," She knew control was important to him. She saw it and felt it in the way he struggled on a daily basis.

She thought back to his words on the train and posed the ultimate question on the forefront of her mind, "Do you think _you_ could become the new Original?"

She didn't know the precise word to describe the way he looked at her. She could see the storm of thoughts behind his eyes and she would've given much more than a penny to know what they were. Was there awe? Maybe, but Tom didn't strike her as the type to regard anything with awe.

"I believe, Hermione," Her name on his lips drew a chill. "It is possible if I desired it enough."

Whether or not it was even realistic or possible was an unknown to her, just like the man in front of her. As his words echoed through mind, she realized she honestly didn't know if he would be better or worse than the Original. Could she really afford to find out?

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone, this was another chapter I was really excited to write so I posted it up right away. Some heavy stuff going on here and I feel like Hermione and Tom are crossing into new territory, but let me know what you guys think! I promise more action will pick up next chapter with other characters, I just decided this was a good ending point for this chapter. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	17. Chapter 17

"Let's go back," She coaxed him with a hand on his shoulder and a whisper in his ear.

Having exhausted their drink and enough truths for one day, there was no reason to remain in the Three Broomsticks. Tom nodded at her suggestion and rose up on his feet as well. He nearly bumped into Hermione when she didn't start heading for the door immediately.

"Shit," Hermione muttered with no grace.

Tom followed her pale stricken gaze to the front door, where three Hogwarts professors were entering the pub. While it may not have been Hogsmeade weekend, that didn't stop professors from going into Hogsmeade during free periods. Sometimes a drink away from the overly energetic students was in order.

"Don't," Tom warned Hermione in a low whisper, half shielding her from the front door. More importantly, a hand tugged at her wrist, stopping the motion of her reaching for her wand. "They've already seen us, keep it together and don't dawdle."

Hermione only brief nodded before taking a deep breath and steading her shoulders. She walked towards the front and could sense Tom following closely behind her.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall greeted with a widening eyes of genuine surprise. "I must say it pleases me to see you out away from that dreadful shop for a change."

Hermione gave her a tight lipped smile. "Hello, Professor," She replied politely. McGonagall had always given her the impression of the motherly type that would offer unsolicited advice to help, regardless of whether or not it was wanted. "I'm sure you can appreciate needing a break once in a while."

Her eyes passed over to the next professor. He wasn't even looking at her properly, his eyes staring off above her shoulder. Behind her, Tom said nothing and kept an indifferent, borderline bored mask.

"Professor," She nodded at him, keeping the same plastered smile. Her eyes settled on the last professor, the one that seemed least threatening to her. "Madam," She acknowledged and tried to keep pleasant without being rude, "How are the first years shaping up this year?"

The feisty woman with spikey grey hair gave a half shrug. "Only sent two to the infirmary this month," She replied casually.

"Oh," Hermione struggled, "Lovely." She had no idea if that was considered a good track record or not by this point in the school year.

She really just wanted to step around the professors and leave, but she would have to literally elbow them out of the way to do so.

Hermione glanced back to McGonagall, noticing the way the elder witch kept looking back and forth between her and Tom. The speculation was not hidden in the least.

Seeing no way out of it, Hermione cleared her throat. "This is Tom," She introduced stiffly, "He's my new research assistant."

Tom still remained silent only giving the curtest of nods. Hermione fought the urge to elbow him in the gut for making things tenser than they already were.

McGonagall tucked a hand under her chin and the way her eyes passed the pair up and down made Hermione like she was back in her school years. Her eyes lingered particularly on her footwear and ankles, noting the pajamas and slippers. "I'm sure it's… fascinating research," She remarked dryly.

"Of course," Hermione reached the end of her patience. "If you'll excuse us, I'm expecting a client shortly at my shop…" At that cue, she bid a quick farewell and the professors parted to let the pair pass through the doors.

* * *

"There is not even the slightest chance that he did not recognize me," Tom hissed to her in a low voice as the two walked in brisk strides back to her shop.

For a change, he was the one grasping her tightly by the upper arm. He was nearly dragging her with his height producing longer strides than her.

"I know, I know!" Hermione rushed out in a panic. "Just let me think!"

She hadn't planned on this. Now, she needed one quick.

* * *

Madam Hooch eyed the door after they left with a hint of mirth. "Research?" She humphed. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

McGonagall wasn't as bemused with her crassness. "Shall we?" She waved on towards the bar and Hooch made no hesitation.

Professor Slughorn stirred out of his stupor, "Actually, it just occurred me, Minerva and Rolanda, that a rather important correspondence slipped my mind earlier." He gave an innocently forgetful smile on his face. "If you'll excuse me, I would much like to join you lovely ladies another time."

McGonagall blinked in surprise at his change in demeanor. Slughorn was already backing for the door before she barely responded, "Surely, Horace."

* * *

Hermione swore loudly as she slammed the phone back down on the receiver. It clanged loudly through her flat.

"The passports aren't ready yet," She began to pace anxiously.

Tom sat on the couch, leaning his elbows against his knees as he watched her. "You're stalling, Hermione," He pointed out, the agitation in his tone unprecedented to her anxiety.

He had humored her when she said she needed to come up with a plan. She went in and out of her bedroom, changing into jeans and a sweater. He heard a few other things bang around inside as well. He took the opportunity to change himself, but not he didn't have the patience to sit here and wait for her to figure it out.

"You know what you need to do," He declared darkly.

"What? No!" She scoffed at him. " _No_ , I'm not going to kill him just because he saw you. Merlin, Tom!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "You have to do _some_ thing, Hermione. Preferably soon."

"I know," She didn't want to admit it, but she _was_ stalling. "I know." She sighed and made up her mind, "I'll go now."

She was half way down the stairs, shrugging on her outer cloak again when she realized he was following her. "What are you doing?" She whirled on him.

"I'm coming with you," He drawled at her as if she was dull.

"Like hell you are!" She shook her head. "You can't even use a wand."

Tom glowered at the reminder of being a liability, "Precisely, which is why I'm not going to sit here defenseless waiting for you to return. _If_ you return."

"I wouldn't just –" She began to protest, but decided she didn't have time for it. She amended threateningly, "Just don't slow me down."

* * *

"Hermione!" He raised his voice at her as they weaved through the buildings. "Where are you going?"

"What did I say about slowing me down?" She shot back hotly.

"Yes, yes, I heard you," He caught up with her as they stepped into another store. "But Honeyduke's? How is this helpful?" Honestly, now was not the time to satisfy a sweet tooth.

"Because we're going to sneak into Hogwarts," She pulled him close to whisper hurriedly. "Believe it or not, that's something I'm rather familiar with. Now unless you know a way of taking down the Anti-Apparition wards in the next five minutes, keep me watch for me."

Tom gaped at her, but stirred to movement as she headed for the back of the shop towards the basement.

* * *

The passage was secret, but also took too long, she recalled.

"You could fly in," He suggested as they descended the stairs beyond the trap door. "Like I've been teaching you."

Hermione shook her head, holding her wand out, casting the only source of light in the tunnel. "I don't think –" She began to protest.

"Unaided flight is a variation of Apparition, the wards don't cover it quite the same. You just need to get past the grounds border and you can fly from there," Tom explained quickly and confidently.

She nearly missed a step turning to him. "How do you know?" She questioned.

He just raised his eyebrows at her.

Then she remembered who she was talking to. "Right, the Battle," She muttered dryly, trying to force images of years ago out of her mind.

* * *

When they were far enough to the point she was confident they were beyond the border, she stopped and turned to Tom abruptly.

"Stay close to me," She warned him. Her wand went to his shoulder and gave him a tap. "You wander off and the charm wears off."

Tom felt a shudder, like a cool slime dripping over his body. He didn't bother looking down to know he was blending into his surroundings.

"And so help me, I won't come back for your sorry arse when all the portraits in Hogwarts recognize you," She finished, reaching out to grab his shoulders.

His smirk was the last feature she saw of him, but she heard a chuckle.

Without warning, black smoke erupted around them.

* * *

In the third floor corridor, black smoke came billowing out from behind the statue of Gunhilda.

Moments later, Hermione emerged in the silence. She glanced around her briefly, noting the fact most students were likely in classes.

She only encountered a few on her way up to the sixth floor. They stepped out of her way, sensing the purpose in her steady and swift a strides.

* * *

She found him in his office, sitting on one of the large sofas in front of the fireplace. He stared absently through the glass of the doors that opened to the balcony. He watched the birds flying in the distance. The recent years had not been kind on his appearance. The wire cusps of grey hair left on his head gave him the look of perpetual bewilderment. His weight sagged on his portly frame.

"Miss Granger," He acknowledged her without looking at her. His features were pale in the castle light. "I wondered how soon I would see you again."

"Why is that, Professor?" Hermione forgo forced politeness the moment she barged into his office unannounced. She had hoped he would still be at the pub.

He turned to look at her then. Her hair was splayed wildly around her from its natural rebellion and the wind strikes of flying. The dark robes contrasted her fair complexion sharply, just like the unfeeling gaze fixed on him. He only faintly regarded the wand clutched tightly at her side.

"Horace. Horace, I think would be appropriate at this point. I haven't been your professor in quite some time," He grinned sadly at her.

"Of course," She agreed, but didn't feel comfortable with his first name. She approached him slowly, but still kept a respectful distance.

The silence permeated between them. She noted how exhausted her former professor was then. It carried heavy in his shoulders, in the bags under his eyes.

"I know why you're here," She heard the resignation in his voice. "Even yet, one can't help but hope that it's just the imaginations of a tired, old mind."

"That would depend on what such mind imagined they saw," She parred smoothly.

"Tom Riddle is not something I would conjure in idleness," Slughorn replied solemnly.

Hermione inhaled slowly and deliberately. A naïve part of her had hoped that there was a chance Slughorn wouldn't believe what he saw. Such blind idealism for her died a long time ago, however.

"But _you_ , Miss Granger," He shook his head in horrid astonishment.

"You wouldn't understand," She declared coldly, feeling the urge to defend herself. For a moment, she didn't care that Tom was somewhere in the room listening to every word. "I need to study his soul. I need to know if it's possible with his, then maybe mine can be…"

"My dear girl," He abolished in a surprisingly sympathetic tone. "I don't think badly of you." He leant forward as he uttered, "I know what he is like."

Despite the stirring of guilt in her stomach, Hermione forced herself to keep her face neutral. "Thank you, Horace," She tried his name carefully and raised her wand. "If it's any consolation, I truly am sorry."

" _Oblivate!"_

* * *

"Harry! Hold the lift!" Ron called out as he rushed to join his best friend. Him along with several of the flying memos filtered in behind him.

"Hey, Ron," Harry greeted the fellow Auror.

"Thanks," He muttered, catching his breath as they began to move. "What you think about that boggart at Whittington?"

Harry gave a half shrug, lacking much interest. "I really hope it's not the highlight of our week," He admitted with a little cheek. A couple of nurses with altered memories and a boggart, he figured it was probably just a sick freak playing with Muggle body parts for potions.

"I think that one is for you, mate," Ron pointed up above his head.

Harry looked up, noticing the winged letter circling incessantly above him. While Ron rattled on about the case, he snagged it from the air. Right away he noticed it wasn't the pale violent parchment of interdepartmental memos, but rather likely inbound owl post charmed to find him.

He opened the letter and froze as his eyes scanned over the page of hurried scrawl.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I hope you don't mind the drivel of an elder mind such as mine. Once you reach the numbers of years as I have, they'll find you where they can't be helped. Today was no exception when I saw Miss Granger. I imagined a flower petal floating on a surface of water before it sank into a fish. As you once taught me, I cannot allow the fish to disappear in vain._

 _Please meet me in my office at Hogwarts as swiftly as possible._

 _-Horace Slughorn_

"Oi!" Ron yelled after Harry as he shot out of the lift. "What about the case?"

"Sod the bloody boggart. I need to get to Hogwarts."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone! Thank you for the fantastic feedback. I just had to write this chapter and get it up write away. There isn't as much Tom and Hermione in this one but it's still one of my favorites. I decided to throw a lot of parallels/symbolism with Slughorn's story and interactions with a young Riddle and Harry, some of the dialogue should feel familiar. Some of you are probably going to scream why didn't Hermione go after Slughorn right away, but think. She's still human and she's still Hermione, attacking a respected Hogwarts professor isn't something she would consider lightly. Let me know what you think! Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	18. Chapter 18

"We shouldn't take any chances," Hermione declared when they got back to her flat.

"You don't think the oblivate was sufficient?" Tom questioned while she was already both arms into the coat closet.

"Oh I'm sure," She muttered as she found the first backpack. Now where was that other one? "I just think we've been pushing our luck already," She said as her eyes darted about. McGonagall and Hooch attended Hogwarts after Tom. It was a miracle Harry even saw any of Dumbledore's memories. No, she knew very people, if any outside the Order or his inner circle, ever knew that Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort. Even fewer living people today knew what he looked like then.

"Perhaps," Tom gave dubiously as Hermione's arm disappeared up to her shoulder into the bag, charmed to expand beyond what seemed possible.

"Slughorn doesn't have an ounce of Gryffindor courage in him. Even if he did remember, he wouldn't tell anyone," Hermione stated boldly and found the messenger bag she had been looking for, charmed similar to the pack. "Did you know he altered his own memories of when you asked him about the horcruxes?"

Tom's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise and he shook his head.

Hermione shoved the bag into his hands. "Go pack anything that isn't too dangerous to move downstairs. I'll work on up here," She ordered.

She didn't know how much she underestimated him though. Sometimes, it isn't the might of courage, but merely a moment that makes the difference.

* * *

"Harry! My dear boy!" Slughorn greeted enthusiastically, looking up from his desk at the Auror entering his office. His quill paused and laid down flat. "What brings you here?" He squinted and his nose wrinkled up at the question.

"Horace," He acknowledged in response, clearing the distance between them. He frowned at the obvious flustered surprise on his former professor. "Are you alright?"

Slughorn cocked his head oddly at him. "But of course," He sputtered out. "It was just a spotty headache. Don't tell me Minerva called you? I understand her concern, but calling the _Aurors_ , Merlin, that's not nearly necessary…"

Harry began shaking his head incredulously. "What are you talking about?" It came out blunt. "You called me here."

Slughorn stilled, suddenly going from feeling flattered by personal visit to confused.

"I beg your pardon?" He blinked at Harry.

"You owled me," Harry said it slower, almost as if it made a difference. Zero recognition flickered across Slughorn's features. Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the letter. "You sent me this," He offered out to the older man.

Slughorn hesitantly took the letter and unfolded.

Harry watched all the joviality in his demeanor disappear as he read it. He went white as a sheet. The moments ticked by painfully slowly as he undoubtedly read it several times over.

"I'm sorry, Harry," He gave weakly before looking up with set of bewildered wrinkled eyes. "I don't know why I would write such a thing."

Yes, he had seen Miss Granger, earlier that day at the Three Broomsticks with a young gentlemen. There was nothing remarkable that he could recall however.

Harry's frown increased. A moment of forgetfulness was one, but none of this sat right with him. He remembered how he had to get Slughorn three sheets to the wind to tell him that story.

"Do you mind if I use your Floo, sir?"

* * *

"Blimey, Harry," Ron's voice came stumbling through the Floo. "What's got your knickers in a twist today?" He dusted the soot off of himself as Neville came in ungracefully behind him.

Slughorn grew more agitated at the increasing number of Aurors in his office.

"Weasley. Longbottom," Harry went into full professional mode.

Noticing that tone of voice, the humor dropped off Ron's face immediately and he stood up straighter.

"Take Horace down to the Headmistress' office. I believe someone has altered his memories. See if you can recover them. Talk to the portraits too, see if they noticed anything unusual," He ordered.

Ron nodded right away. "Oi!" He stopped Harry nearly before he slipped through the door. "Where are you going?"

"I need to check on Hermione," He barely replied before disappearing.

* * *

Tom was picking through the potions section of her shelves when he heard the creaking of the shop door open. It made him stop.

In their haste, did she forget to ward the door?

"Hermione," He called out towards the stairs as he stepped out from behind the shelves. "Did you…" The words died immediately.

He blinked at the man standing in the middle of her store. The black robes with Ministry insignia nearly stood out as much as his messy crop of black hair and piercing green eyes. They stared back in an equal amount of stun.

Harry stared at the youthful man that seemed to be near his age. With equally dark hair, his was groomed with a perfect part and natural curls. His appearance in Muggle attire of jeans, sneakers, and a blue Oxford sweater momentarily distracted him.

"Potter," Tom sneered the one word thoughtlessly.

It was enough to spur the Auror into motion. A flicker of his wrist, dislodging the wand from its holster and Tom didn't even raise his hands before taking the brunt of the spell to his chest, " _Expelliarmus_!"

The uncontrolled emotion behind the spell gave it enough force to knock Tom back into the bookshelf behind him. It went crashed down with a shuddering force.

"What have you done with Hermione?!" Harry didn't bother helping the shout as he advanced on the crumpled form. Tom didn't rebound quickly, he gave a ragged breath and clutched at his side.

"Harry, no!" Her feminine voice cut through and his head snapped up towards the staircase where Hermione stood halfway down them.

"Expelliarmus!"

He was so stunned by her wand pointing at him he barely felt his slip through his fingers and she caught it. The second spell that came from hers was nonverbal. Thick ropes came forth and bound Harry by the arms and legs, pinning his hands down at his torso.

"Hermione, what-what are," He began to sputter out in confused betrayal watching the brunette descend the steps.

She wasn't looking at him though. "Tom!" She went to his side as the man sat up straight, trying to recover to his feet. "Are you alright?"

It was a grimace but he managed a nod.

"What the hell is going on, Hermione?" Harry recovered his speech with biting tones.

"It's not what it looks like," Hermione knew it sounded horribly cliché, but all her carefully planned speeches went out of the window as she heard the explosion downstairs.

"Really," Harry shot back hotly dripping of sarcasm. "You're not defending Voldemort then?"

Hermione flinched and shook her head, "I can explain. I think."

Tom muttered dryly to himself as he stood up, "This should be good." He was ignored.

"Look at him," She gestured behind her as she approached Harry. Tom's tongue flickered against his bottom lip before giving a blood laced spat on the ground. Lethal eyes glared at Harry but he made no move. "He's not Voldemort. He's defenseless, magicless."

"Yeah, and?" Harry cut her off, struggling against the ropes without falling over. "Never stopped him from trying to murder me before."

Hermione winced, trying to get him to actually comprehend what she was saying. "That's not what I meant," She explained. "Listen to me, Harry, when we were destroying the horcruxes –"

"Hermione!" Tom's voice bellowed, loud enough to drown out the rest of her sentence.

Her head turned to him, startled.

Despite his pained expression, he spoke quickly and forcefully, "We don't have time for this. Aurors _always_ have back up."

Her stomach twisted with instant dread. She let out a verbal swear, knowing he was right.

"Mione, wait. No, no," Harry started to protest while she pocketed his hand. Her freed hand held out before seemingly random text flew to it. She wouldn't look him in the eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Her voice broke while her wand tapped against the spine. Each tap gave sent a wave of white energy rippling through it, like a battery being charged. She muttered faintly as she did.

"Don't. Look at me," Harry pleaded with her and teary chocolate eyes complied reluctantly. "It's okay, it's not too late."

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry at those words.

She shook her head, growing more resolute. "This isn't goodbye," She told him. "But please, _please_ don't come looking for me."

The book went flying to his chest. At its contact, he felt the familiar tug at his naval that he loathed so much. The last thing she heard of him was her name shouted on his lips.

* * *

He fell with a splash into a marsh. He grunted as the mud soaked in around him. The ropes gave way quickly and he fumbled to get out of them. Without bothering to look any further, he reached for the textbook. It was nothing more than a second year copy of the Standard Book of Spells.

He clutched at it like a lifeline, willing it to send him back. When it did nothing, he threw it with a frustrated cry. He stumbled to get to his feet. He knew this swamp.

Without his wand, he was forced to dredge through the muck up to the Burrow.

* * *

With two glamours in place and packed bags, Hermione apparated her and Tom away from Hogsmeade for the last time. She took him through a maze of apparition points, in case they were being followed, before slipping into Muggle London.

While riding the subway train, she noticed that Tom continued to favor his left side. It wasn't until she checked them into a Muggle hotel, which was nothing but economic, that she forced him to sit down and look at it.

She kept herself moving, focusing on what action was needed next instead of allowing herself to stop and think about just how sideways the whole day turned.

* * *

Harry stumbled into the Headmistress' office warily. The green flames of the Floo caused the group to look up at his arrival.

Neville and Ron were standing at Hogwarts Pensieve with McGonagall and Slughorn close by. Just from the somber looks alone on their faces, Harry knew that they had recovered the memories and he didn't even bother to ask.

"What happened to you?" Neville broke the silence, noting the abundance of mud smeared on Harry's clothes and his wet hair.

"It's him," His voice was hollow with disbelief. "He's back. Voldemort is back."

* * *

That night was the first time Tom mentioned the Deathly Hallows to her.

After some protesting, she forced him to sit down and look at his injury. He sat backwards on the lone desk chair in his room, which adjoined a second room for her. Once he pulled off his shirt, that's when Hermione found the bruising and realized he likely cracked a rib or two from Harry's spell.

He took the pain and discomfort in silence, folding his arms on the back of the chair while she mended the bones and reduced the swelling. His eyes wandered to the desk, where her bag was discarded and she left Harry's wand sitting beside it.

In the mirror hanging above the desk, Hermione watched him reach slowly for the wand. Her fingers only caused briefly. She knew he couldn't do any magic with it, but she still watched him closely. There was no malicious intent in his eyes that she could see, just a sense of wonder, maybe.

She wasn't sure if she was going to fall apart or burst. She tried to diffuse the silence with a weak attempt at humor, "Do you think there's a law specifically against stealing the Head Auror's wand?"

Tom's lips quirked up into a mirthful grin. "If there isn't, there will be," He commented mildly. His fingers rolled the wand in question delicately in his fingers.

He didn't tell her how familiar it felt. For he had one of a similar core that served him well.

"You disarmed Potter," He stated in an odd tone.

Hermione just nodded once, glancing down to his right shoulder. It was covered in bruising that grew increasingly dark. She knew those ones weren't from Harry and she was too numb to allow herself to really think about what that meant. She didn't realize just how badly he tried to reach her last night.

"Then, unless he's been disarmed before," Tom spoke and for a moment she wondered if it was coming from all three horcruxes. "That would make you the true master of the Elder Wand."

Hermione blinked dumbly at him in the mirror. He was still cradling Harry's wand.

Should she really tell him? She wondered. Probably not, but the petty part of her won.

"It would," She said carefully. "If it hadn't been destroyed."

Tom recoiled, watching her stiffly now in the mirror. The question evident in his features.

"After the Original… died. Harry used it to repair his wand. Then Ron and I watched him snap it in half," She mimicked the motion with her words above his head for emphasis.

That was when she knew what it was like to watch Tom mentally short circuit and drop the wand.

"Yeah," She breathed heavily, glancing back to her work. "That's kind of how we reacted too."

She added on thoughtfully while he still said nothing, "Harry's a better person than either of us will ever be."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Phew, what a chapter! Before anyone starts grumbling at me, yes, I know that's not what happened to the Elder Wand in the books. I decided to merge my favorite part of the books and films together to this outcome, so there. Hope you guys like the chapter! I know Hermione got the jump on Harry, but she would never really hurt him and he obviously was not expecting to find what he saw. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	19. Chapter 19

They had to hide for four days until the passports were ready. Compared to the months on the run with Harry and Ron, staying holed up in a hotel was luxury. But it still made her stir crazy. She kept them confined to the two rooms, joined by the adjoining doors. It was worth the little extra bit of money to be able to lock herself away from Tom at night. She setup a few charms and basic wards around the rooms, but nothing too extensive that would leave a significant magical trace. It was a matter of staying out of sight until it was time. She only left sparingly to make arrangements and get essentials. He never heard the way she cried herself to sleep every night.

* * *

"Regrets?" He had asked her while she stared morosely out the window. The rain pattered against the glass. A simple charm allowed the light to come in, but none to leave. Their rooms seemed dark and vacant from the street.

"No," She shook her head quietly. "If anything… I shouldn't have let it get this far."

She should have left before things got out of control. Now she couldn't forget the look of betrayal on Harry's face. She could only imagine how the rest reacted.

* * *

"Where's Tom?" She asked him, sitting cross legged on his bed from him. Between them, there was a box of pizza, delivered to the hotel lobby, and a pile of papers from a few errands she ran. Under a heavy glamour, of course.

"Lover's spat with You-Know-Who," Riddle answered her flippantly before taking a bite of his slice. He originally made quite a face at the offered meal, but now made no ado about consuming it.

Hermione's eyes narrowed on him suspiciously. It wasn't like Tom to leave her alone with Riddle for any length of time. But other than make a few lewd comments about his appetite, he hadn't tried anything yet.

She knew they were in a rather boorish mood with being around each constantly without reprieve. It was a lot of hours with nothing other than books and Muggle television to pass the time.

She was considering whether or not she actually _missed_ Tom when Riddle broke her out of her reverie. She hadn't even noticed him thumbing through the papers on the bed, finding a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that she had nicked after confounding a delivery owl.

"My, my, they wasted no time at all," Riddle tsked out with a gleaming smirk on his features. He waved the paper at her.

Abandoning her paper plate for the moment, Hermione leaned forward to grab it. Riddle moved quicker and peel the front cover off before handing it over. She almost made a comment about him hogging the rest of the paper, until she saw the headline.

 _War Heroine Goes Missing_

Below it was a large photo of her with Ron and Harry. She recognized it from the last memorial gala she had been forced to attend with them. Ignoring Riddle's smirk, she scanned through the article. It was heartfelt, she admitted, a plea rather for help finding her. It even had quotes from Harry and Ron, trying to appeal to the masses to help bring her home.

"You're not even mentioned," Hermione remarked, frowning. She had expected a reaction of some sort, but not this downplayed.

Riddle didn't look up at her, more interested in the rest of the paper. "Too few witnesses," He only then paused to leer at her. "Couldn't exactly go running through the Ministry atrium in his pajamas screaming 'He's back!' now, could he?"

She gave him a scowl for the poor taste, but didn't otherwise bother to defend the former Minister.

Instead she shoved the article away, not wanting to be subject to another boot of guilt in front of him. She leant back against the headboard and folded her arms over her chest.

"So you remembered everything after being released from the horcrux too," She studied him critically at the rare opportunity to do so.

Riddle just gave a shrug, already moving onto the next page of the paper.

"What's it like being stuck with the other two?" She asked.

He didn't even attempt to answer that time. His eyes narrowed on an article.

"What really happened the night you let the Basilisk out?" She tried again. "Did Myrtle –"

"Good _lord_ ," Riddle interrupted with an irritated snap. "Tom was serious about you being a nosey bint."

Hermione's eyes narrowed sharply at him. "I really doubt he said that," She retorted sharply.

"Believe what you want," He huffed before shoving the paper in her direction, "But look at this." It was folded over to another article.

Hermione snatched it up begrudgingly, but her features eased when she read what he was looking at it. The article was barely an article, more like only a couple of paragraphs. It was comments on recent illegal activity involving oblivated Muggle nurses and a boggart being found. It implicated a suspect likely harvesting human body parts for dark potions.

"Well, at least _some_ thing went according to plan," Hermione sighed out. The only detail she hadn't expected was to see a picture of Tom next to it, captioned as the unidentified suspect that if spotted one should contact the Aurors.

"Is this going to cause us problems?" Riddle asked rather seriously for a change.

Hermione shook her head, "No, we just need to get out of the country."

Riddle raised an eyebrow, "I take it international magical cooperation is just as abysmal as before?"

Hermione nodded. Maybe even worse, she thought. "You know how the Ministries are, they stay out of each other's business unless Quidditch is involved. I don't think they even know about Muggle extradition laws and as long as we stay off Muggle authorities' radar, we'll be fine."

Riddle nodded, satisfied with her answer. For a moment, she was grateful to be talking to a wizard that she didn't have to explain Muggle terms or slang.

"But how did they get _your_ picture?" Hermione wondered aloud the only part that didn't make sense. It was a brief shot of him in black robes. The background was hard to make out. He appeared to be looking at the camera with a scowl before turning away.

Riddle didn't seem as perturbed. "Looks like a memory splice to me," He commented.

"A memory splice?" Hermione repeated dubiously. "How's that –"

"Do I look like your bloody encyclopedia, Granger?" Riddle snapped out abruptly.

She leant back, but kept her expression stony. No, she definitely wasn't the only one short tempered with the current situation.

"Tom may fancy your company as pleasing," He went on harshly. "But do good to remember the rest of us would very much rather not be here, no less answering your incessant questions."

Hermione bristled at his accusation, but tried her to best not to rise to the bait. "Really?" He drew dryly, raising a brow. "It didn't seem that way earlier." He was never shy with the crude comments.

That malicious glint became more pronounced in his eyes. She didn't like it, she realized, because it was so cold and dead to the way Tom looked.

"Try being trapped for sixty years," His words were a vicious silk. "You'll find yourself willing to bend and fuck just about anything." His eyes passed up and down her openly, "Even filthy little Mudbloods like you."

"You're revolting," She broke. Reaching to keep her wand in hand, she quickly slid off the bed. She decided a long bath away from him was the only thing to keep her from hexing bodily harm. His laughter followed her to the bathroom.

* * *

The nightmare was so much worse that night.

It wasn't just Bellatrix that cut _Mudblood_ into her arm.

Harry was next to her, cutting in _Traitor_.

* * *

She knew she was screaming in her sleep because the sound was still coming from her lips as her body shook. Her shoulders shook beyond her control and it set the panic higher.

"Hermione!"

She clawed at her assailant in the darkness, trying to get away from the copper smell in her nose and the pain that lingered.

"Stop! It's me! Hermione!"

The voice that called she realized wasn't Harry or Bellatrix.

"It's Tom. Just Tom. It's not happening, it's not real."

Hermione blinked, consciousness clearing in her vision and seeing his face for the first time. His pale complexion contrasted sharply in the shades of the late evening hour. "Tom?" Her voice was hoarse as she tried his name, trying to comprehend how he was leaning over her, nearly pinning her arms to her sides.

"That's right," His voice was soft. "I'm here."

Her breathing, an already heavy panting, only worsened. "I locked the door," She scuffled under the sheet, sliding up the bed until her back was pressed against the headboard. "How did you get in here?!"

"Did you?" His words were cool and even, unimpressed. "Evidently my presence suggests not."

Her eyes darted away from him reflexively, having to see for herself. Over his shoulder, she could see the adjoining door between the rooms was wide open.

She was hyperventilating he observed. She would pass out if she kept going.

"Hermione, breathe," He ordered her gently. "Just breathe."

She didn't hear or struggled to until two hands grabbed her face by her cheeks. Almost roughly, she was forced to look into eyes as dark as a tornado's prelude. "Breathe with me, Hermione," He whispered to her demandingly. She froze, other than letting her hands fist against the sleeves of his nightshirt.

"Follow my breaths, close your eyes and listen for them," He coaxed her repeatedly until she did just that. It felt like her heartrate was throbbing in her skull and shudders still rippled through her frame, but she did try to focus.

The hands eased off her cheeks and glided to her shoulders to hold her in place. Her inhales were forced and she struggled to keep the exhales in as long as he did.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter when she felt his forehead against hers. Thumbs drew distracting circles along her upper arms. She smelled mint on his breath. He smelt of sandalwood and other spices. She let her mind try to identify them.

When her fingers eased and smoothed out against his shirt, she noticed her shoulders weren't as tense and her breathing had calmed. He leaned back to give her some room, but his face still consumed her visage when she opened her eyes.

"Where did you learn that?" She broke the silence between them.

"It's just something I had to do growing up," He replied vaguely.

Hermione could only imagine why, but didn't have the energy or willpower in that moment. Whatever this was at the moment, it was fragile. She almost didn't want to speak too loudly and break the spell.

"Tom," She whispered. "Where were you? It was awfully cruel of you to leave me with Riddle all afternoon." She tried not to make it sound too obvious by hiding it behind a teasing comment.

A grin briefly flickered on his lips. She watched it come and go.

"I had to make sure You-Know-Who will stay out of the way tomorrow," He answered while a few fingers absently pulled a curl away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

The action caused her response to die in her throat.

"Sleep, Hermione," He bade her. "We have a long day ahead of us."

"Good night, Tom," She watched him rise his seat at the bed edge. Her eyes followed him slipping back into his room and shutting the door.

She reached under her pillow and pulled out her wand. With a flick of her wrist, the door locked into place. It was only then she was certain she had already done that earlier. It took her a considerable more amount of time to fall asleep again.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** You guys are getting spoiled today with two chapters! Hope you liked slowing things down a little for some Tomione. For those asking about music, I was listening to Hurt by Nine Inch Nails while writing this chapter. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	20. Chapter 20

When the package arrived at the Ministry, it was immediately flagged as being detected to have a magical trace. After an hour of processing and determining there was no dark magic in the trace, it was delivered to Harry Potter.

"Ron!" Harry caught up with his best friend in the hall and gave a meaningful head nod towards his office.

Once the redhead followed him inside and shut the door, he asked, "What is it?" The hum of the rest of the Auror office shushed as soon as the door clicked.

"It's from Hermione," Harry held up the cardboard box that was no bigger than something a textbook would be sent in.

Ron's eyes bugged wide. "Are you serious?" He was the only one running ragged the last few days. The heavy bags were more pronounced under Harry's eyes with the late night Order meetings and still trying to grapple with recent events. "What did she send?"

"My wand," Harry flashed it before pocketing the familiar wood. To say he was relieved to not have to use a secondary wand anymore was an underestimate. "And these," He held out a letter and a gold galleon.

Ron recognized the coin as one of the DA tokens from their fifth year. "So much for trying to contact her that way," He grumbled, turning it over.

Harry nodded and folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against his desk. "Read the letter," He suggested.

The seal was already broken and Ron could see Harry's name written on the front, but he proceeded to read it aloud anyway.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I cannot begin to fathom what state this letter finds you in. Included is my DA Galleon, as proof I hope that this letter isn't a forgery. I urge you to finish reading before passing judgment on me._

 _By now I'm sure you've put most of the pieces together. However, the man you saw is not Voldemort as you knew him. When we destroyed the horcruxes, the soul fragments within were released. The man you saw is a product of these fragments. I have reason to suspect they cannot be truly destroyed, but I believe there are other ways to vanquish them. For that reason, I'm keeping him close to study him. If I can truly understand how soul fragments work, maybe then an end can be put to this._

 _I know this is of little reassurance, but I will share with you the thought that reminds me the last six month have had a purpose. Every day that I've had him is another day that no one was hurt and no one has died. I don't know how long this mission will take me, but that truth makes the sacrifice worth it._

 _Give me time and distance. It's selfish to ask, but someday I hope you can give me your forgiveness._

 _Hermione_

Ron let his voice trail off as he finished read and the words washed over him.

"Bloody hell," He swore loudly. He didn't know where to begin but, "Six months?! How could she have hid this so long?"

"The snake," Harry supplied numbly, having put it together faster. "It was him the whole time."

Ron's mouth hung open and Harry didn't have the energy to warn him about swallowing flies.

"Brilliant," Ron mumbled in disbelief.

"Excuse me?" Harry's eyebrows rose.

"She's brilliant," Ron clarified, shaking his head at the letter. "Only our 'Mione could keep You-Know-Who as a _pet_. Scary one she is, but bloody brilliant."

Despite himself, Harry's lips pulled up into a solemn grin.

"So what do we do?" Ron looked to his best friend and leader for direction.

"We're going to keep looking for her," Harry declared with no protest from the redhead. After all, how many times had she bailed the two of them out of trouble? And this was a little larger than just detention at Hogwarts.

Harry looked at the return address on the box. "Get Neville and check out this address. See if they left anything behind," He ordered Ron. It was post marked two days ago and he doubted they would find anything more than a normal Muggle residence, but they had to start somewhere.

He didn't know that the postmark on the box was the same day that Hermione and Tom left London.

* * *

The first time the reality of leaving England really hit her was while they rode the taxi towards the airport in that early morning hour. Their bags were packed, appearing to be nothing more than carryon luggage. In the back of the cab, sitting next to Tom, they were both dressed in Muggle clothes.

She pulled out a small booklet and a wand from her backpack before offering it out to Tom. "Your passport, boarding passes," She explained at the raised eyebrow he gave her. "And a wand, which you'll be asked to present at customs."

He just nodded and accepted the items. For a moment, he flicked through the pages of the book before slipping it inside his coat pocket. The wand disappeared within his messenger bag.

He barely uttered a word in the entire ride. Hermione realized when he was faced with situations of uncertainty and new knowledge, he withdrew into himself and observed silently. Unlike her, he didn't bounce in his seat anxiously with a thousand questions on his lips.

* * *

"We're flying the Muggle way?" Tom asked dubiously when the taxi reached their destination. The sneer was laced with apprehension.

"It's the safest way," Hermione explained, continuing on despite the face he made at that statement. "London Heathrow is one of the busiest airports in the world. The Ministry doesn't have the resources, the manpower, nor the understanding to monitor Muggle transportation."

She could see his skepticism, but he said nothing as they got out.

* * *

The attendant behind the airline counter flipped through the passports easily. The Muggle didn't even see the pages that were magically hidden within identifying the wizards in front of her.

Hermione bit her lip anxiously as she watched her tap away on her keyboard, punching in the passport IDs. She wasn't worried about hers, she had been traveling under that name for a while now. Watching the woman in the navy uniform examine Tom's made her uncomfortable.

After much too time for her wits, a pearly white smile was flashed at them and she held the passports out, "Enjoy your flight."

* * *

Passing through the Muggle security was simple. One charm and their bags appeared to be casually packed with clothing and essentials as they went through the scanner.

After pausing at a bench to tug their shoes back on, Hermione muttered to Tom, "Easy part is over with."

* * *

He stood at the window overlooking their gate for a long time. Hermione watched the way his eyes darted about, taking in the scene of the airplanes taxing in and out of gates. Theirs was parked, waiting for board, as the ground crew worked to prep the plane. His lips were pressed into a thoughtful line, almost a frown.

"It must be strange for you," Hermione commented idly, leaning a shoulder against the glass to look at him fully. "To see how much the world has changed." She could never guess how it felt for a man of the forties to find himself in the twenty-first century, especially in the Muggle world.

Tom gave one short nod. "Unnerving, actually," He admitted honestly. He held his hands in front of him, repeatedly rubbing the small knuckle of his forefinger over and over. "The planes are certainly… bigger," He observed, absorbing the sleek white bodies and winding turbines. "Sturdier, I hope."

Hermione grinned lightly. "Absolutely," She reassured simply.

"I've never been outside of Europe," Tom admitted gently.

Hermione shrugged casually, "I imagine not being stuck in that ring so long."

Tom shook his head. "No," He turned to look at her finally, "Not me, not him, or any of them, have traveled this far."

"Oh," Her response was feeble and she knew it, but she hadn't expected that. She did realize then that he was nervous about more than just trusting Muggle technology to transport them safely.

"I've thought about what you said earlier," He spoke to her, but choose to gaze absently at the plane before them. "About becoming my own man."

"And?" Hermione tried not to press too much, but she took a step closer to him.

"I would like to," Tom replied, but turned it around on her. His gaze leveled on her, heavy and searching for something that suddenly left her very exposed. "But will _you_ give me that chance? Will you ever look at _me_ and not see him?"

Floored and stunned, several moments passed before she could formulate her response, "I can try to."

It was the best she could give him now. She wasn't naïve enough to ignore the monster that lurked beneath the surface. She wasn't idealistic enough anymore to believe that man always won out over the monster.

* * *

He sat stiffly in the seat as the plane turned the last corner before heading onto the runway. At the pickup of the engines, rumbling and whirling around them, his knuckles went white on the armrest between them.

Hermione glanced down at them, their conversation at the gate and the night before still heavy on her mind. Before she thought better of it, she reached down and glanced her hand lightly on top of his.

He tore his eyes away from the window to look at their hands, only for a moment before going back. It wasn't until they heard the lurching of the landing gear withdrawing in the air did he lift his fingers and turn his palm upwards. His fingers curled around hers firmly.

* * *

Hermione stirred from sleep when the captain announced they were an hour out. The reading light above illuminated Tom as he held the paperback. One finger idly rubbed back and forth along his lower lip.

"You didn't sleep?" She wondered aloud. Even as she did, she doubted he wanted to risk letting the other two catch him off guard.

Tom just shook his head. "I still don't understand what is so frightening about a _clown_ ," He frowned instead at the book without looking up at her.

* * *

She was quick to regret not getting more rest on the eight hour flight over the Atlantic. Once they landed in JFK, she knew the real headache was about to begin. Tom seemed to have a perpetual scowl as they begrudgingly waited to deboard the plane. For the first couple of lengths, they followed the gradual dispersing of the crowd towards baggage claim.

However, instead of turning off towards the Muggle customs, Hermione tugged him by the arm towards a newspaper stand. To the Muggles around them, unknowingly repelled, they saw a chained up _Hudson News_ stand.

To Hermione and Tom, they saw a small bookstand kiosk that led into a hallway with a series of elevators. The sign above the stand read _MACUSA ENTRY POINT – MANDATORY SCREENING_.

They slipped into one of the elevators. Hermione glanced down at the two options.

 _B1 – WIZARDS AND WITCHES_

 _B2 – MAGICAL AFFLICTIONS_

 _B3 – MAGICAL CREATURES_

She pressed the first button and waited for the doors to close before saying to Tom, "We're going to have to declare _everything_ we're carrying."

Tom hesitated, knowing just how much she had packed into their bags.

"The wizards screening us make their living from finding hidden compartments," She explained. "They _will_ find it if we try to hide it."

* * *

When the doors opened, Tom barely made it five steps out before stopping in his tracks. The elevators opened into a massive concourse. The ceiling was lined with glass windows, bringing in unnaturally charmed light. The gleaming white marble floors seemed almost harsh on the eyes. Hermione was immediately taken by the barrage of sounds and the clamoring of the crowd. Ropes switched back line after line of wizards and witches.

A man in black robes with orange stripping held his wand to his throat. The sonorus bellowed his voice to the newly entering passengers.

" _General wizard screening, B1. Werewolves, vampires, proceed to B2. Veelas and other half-breeds to B3. For B1, Luggage Inspection – Line 1. Imported Substances – Line 2. Temporary Apparition Licenses – Line 3. Familiar Declaration – Line 4. Visa Verification – Line 5. Final Registration – Line 6. If you are rejected at a line, you must return to the end and resubmit."_

Tom stopped listening as the man proceed to repeat the same mantra, only after reminding an elderly couple that purple star dusted robes were not appropriate for Queens and they must change before entering non-magical areas.

He looked over at Hermione standing beside him, her shoulders sagging with the obvious acceptance that they were going to be there a while. "We're not going to have to wait in all these lines, are we?" He asked her.

She half shrugged, "At least not the familiar one."

He shot her a rueful glare.

* * *

Before they entered the luggage screening area, they passed through a haze of mist descending from the ceiling. She didn't get a chance to tell Tom that it reminded her of the Thief's Downfall in Gringotts.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as their bags were inspected by a pair of agents. "What are these?" A stiff lipped burly woman with a cut bob pulled open the compartment that revealed the broken horcruxes in Tom's bag.

"Family heirlooms that I'm hoping to have restored here," Tom replied smoothly without breaking eye contact.

* * *

Hermione got pulled aside for additional screening with all of her books.

"There's quite a collection here," The agent had commented leadingly after requesting, demanding rather, consent for them to be scanned for malicious curses.

"I'm a private collector," She smiled sweetly, not entirely lying.

* * *

If he thought the luggage inspection was painful, declaring all of the potions and ingredients that Hermione carried was even worse. They waited in line to grab a stack of blank forms. Once they got the stock, they stepped away along with the dozens of other wizards that were gathered around tables to fill them out.

"Here's a list of everything I packed. Help me fill these out," She laid out the piece of parchment between them.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose when he saw how long the list was. Dutifully, they spent quite some time filling out a form for each ingredient and potion. It went without say that the purpose section of each ingredient was to be filled out as non-nefarious means.

With a thick stack of papers in hand, they waited their turn in line. The inspector was a stout, short man. His wrinkled features, pronounced brow and nose made Hermione wonder if he had some goblin blood. He poured over each page with meticulous precision.

He didn't confiscate any ingredients but he did pull out five pages. "I need certificates of origins for these," He stated blandly.

"Oh! Those should…" Hermione immediately started diving into her bag, searching. "be here, _some_ where."

The inspector was already waving the next group in.

Hermione's jaw dropped at the dismissal. Tom quickly grabbed their papers and had to drag Hermione by the elbow towards the back of the line to keep her from making a scene. The second review was approved.

* * *

Tom truly began to appreciate her attention to detail that day. She left nothing untouched, even the notation of current apparition licenses in the forged wizard identification pages of their passports. It made getting a temporary license approved smoother than some of the other lines as they only needed an extension of an existing license instead of testing for a new one entirely.

* * *

Tom concluded that Americans really liked their forms while he stood patiently at Hermione's side through the visa verification section. Once again, they turned over their passports and it was subject to another round of scrutiny.

"Where will you be residing during your stay?" The inspector asked of Hermione, among the many questions including transportation means. They had to sign another form that they would abide by non-magical transportation laws of each visiting state.

"My family's property in Rockport," Hermione answered in a smooth half true. At the man's request for proof of residence, she turned a copy of the deed. Tom barely caught the title dated over a year ago.

She truly had been considering this for a long time, he realized. He was lost in his own thoughts while she filled out her own forms that he barely caught what the inspector was saying when he turned a few over to him to sign.

"Read and sign at the bottom," The inspector instructed mechanically, "Acknowledging you understanding the terms of your Nomaj visition documentation. Should you be found violating the terms of your visa, the offending party bears responsibility for any incurred penalties from Nomaj Authorities as well as emergency assistance from the MACUSA I.S. Office, which may including fines, detainment and deportation."

Tom blinked and blurted out ineloquently, "I beg your pardon, the _what_ -authorities?"

" _No_ maj," The inspector repeated, as if saying it slower was better.

Tom just stared at him blankly.

Hermione leaned over and whispered, "He means Muggles."

* * *

By the time they made it to final registration, Hermione didn't find the energy to be nervous. Her feet ached, her shoulders were tense and she was exhausted after spending several hours in the concourse. The weariness was obvious on Tom as well, his normally immaculate hair being disheveled from running his hand through it. They didn't even need to try to blend in as among the travel worn passengers.

"Passport and wand," The middle aged female inspector demanded after spending another five minutes doing a final review of all their luggage inspection paperwork. At the request, Hermione handed them over the counter.

"Hermione Grace Dagworth," The inspector read aloud from her passport, holding it up and comparing the picture briefly. Hermione nodded.

The inspector's expression was stoic as she flipped through the pages, noting the previous entry stamps. "Purpose of your visit?" She asked.

"Holiday," Hermione replied curtly.

Tom didn't pay much attention to the form that Hermione was asked to sign after that. Instead, he watched the inspector place her wand into a clear case. It floated in the air momentarily and when the lid shut, the inside lit up with a violet light. It faded quickly and Tom was snapped away from it by the loud stamping noise in Hermione's passport.

"Welcome back," The inspector muttered briefly, handing back the passport and wand to Hermione.

"Passport and wand," The inspector turned to Tom.

He complied as requested and watched the wand that he had no intentions of actually using, because he couldn't, but they wouldn't know that be placed in the same clear case.

"Mr. Marvolo?" The inspector read from his passport, also holding it up.

"Yes, ma'am."

"First time visiting?" The inspector questioned, noting the lack of stamps in his pages.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to spending some time away with my girlfriend," Tom lied smoothly, making a point of pulling Hermione into his side by the waist. The witch fought the urge to roll her eyes at the way he laid it on.

Whether the inspector found it endearing or not, she gave a tight grin that seemed more pained than anything else.

"Read and sign at the bottom," The inspector pulled out another form. "This form acknowledges that you understand the regulations of the International Statue of Secrecy and you consent to the magical trace registered to your wand by the MACUSA DMLE for the monitoring of illegal magical activity during the duration of your visit. Violations of the Statue of Secrecy may include fines and imprisonment at Alcatraz Island."

Tom nodded absently as his eyes scanned over the page, noting it stated in more detail what she suggested. Despite the hand cramp from all the paperwork filled out by this point, he signed his new full name; _Thomas Corvinus Marvolo._

Hermione had remembered bickering with him at length about his new name, but she finally gave up. He had such peculiar demands when it came to names. She at least got him to compromise that Riddle or Gaunt were not good options.

The violet light already faded from the box when he finished. He looked up to see the inspector retrieve his wand. She flipped towards the back of his passport before bringing a heavy stamp down on it. Closing the book, she offered both items out to him and stated such precious words in a monotonous tone.

"On behalf of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, welcome to New York."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Phew, longer chapter than normal but worth it I think! This one was inspired one day when I was daydreaming about what it would be like for wizards to go through customs. I took a lot of artistic liberties with the American Ministry here, both incorporating elements from the new movie trailers and my own. Hope you guys enjoy! Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	21. Chapter 21

He watched the way her hands darted in and out of her sweater sleeve while they headed towards the approved apparition point within the terminal after clearing customs. It was then he noticed the wand in her hand now was a hue darker than the one placed in the clear case.

Hermione caught his gaze and smirked. "I wasn't going to let them put a trace on my _actual_ wand," She muttered haughtily.

"Of course not," He chuckled, short with weariness.

"Ready?" She asked him and held her arm out.

"Just promise me we're not staying in this city," Tom sighed out before reluctantly placing his hand on her forearm.

"Merlin, no!" Hermione scoffed. She hated crowds. New York City was literally her personal hell.

They snapped away.

* * *

He did ultimately have to ask, "What is this place?"

Their traveling came to an end at a sleepy seaside town. The smell of salt and evening tide hung heavily in the air. The breeze rolled over them, crisp and refreshing after spending a day in closed quarters.

"Rockport, Massachusetts," Hermione answered him as they strolled idly up a sidewalk. The land rose and the stretch of neighborhood they were in overlooked the bay. It curved in sharply and she could see Berkshire Neck where most of the boats were tucked away at their docks for the day.

He began to ask slowly, "Is this -"

"A Muggle town?" Hermione finished for him and caught a nod. "Yes. I found it to be nice and quiet when I was visiting the States. It's convenient to apparate into Boston or Andover to meet my colleagues from here."

Any opinions he had on the matter he kept to himself. She did catch the momentary twist of discomfort in his eyes at the mention of living around Muggles. Instead of commenting on it, his eyes rose to the house she turned off the sidewalk towards.

"This is your property?" He asked, studying the slate colored home that was wrapped in white trim. It was constructed in a French Second Empire style with two stories. It had tall windows with decorative brackets beneath the eaves. A tall chimney rose from dual-pitched roof of tin tiles laid in as an intricate pattern was the woodwork. The most pronounced feature, aside from the stairs leading up to the dusted glass paneled double doors was the full porch in the back. A white spinel filled railing wrapping all around the porch. The back of the home itself overlooked the bay.

"I bought about a year ago from a couple that retired to Florida," She answered him. "It made sense to have somewhere to stay." It was better than staying pubs or hotels, she told herself. Not just that it was a place that didn't remind her of anything.

* * *

The first night in the new home was nothing to make any ado over. Hermione gave him a brief tour of the house. There were three bedrooms on the second story. The third was primarily used as storage. He didn't bother looking in the master bedroom and she didn't invite him. She showed him the guest room. The first floor had the kitchen, a small den, the living room and dining room. The basement was unfinished, but full of appliances like the laundry machines and a freezer.

The interior of the house was furnished all in a similar Cape Cod style of soft, pastel shades of blue mixed with light tans and white. The furniture was gently used, almost new still. It made him wonder if she just went to the store one day and ordered down the list of the catalogue. Her Hermione touch was noted with the white bookshelves built into the walls that lined the den, the living room, and even the staircase leading upstairs with a railing in front of it.

To say the moment he realized he had an actual bed to sleep in, and not a transfigured lumpy couch, put any thought of packing or giving a damn about doing anything but face planting it was to put it lightly.

* * *

It was strange for him waking up in a place with so much space. In all of his time with Hermione, they had lived so closely together that he always had a sense of where she was. He didn't know what to make of having an entire room to himself. Granted she could intrude at any time, but she didn't. He couldn't recall ever having his own space, other than being trapped in the ring. That didn't really count in his mind.

It made him anxious when he pulled a sweater over his head and padded down the stairs, trying to find her. His feet were bare against the hardwood floors and he almost went back upstairs for something heavier than pajama pants and some socks. It was quite chilly.

He found out why when he came into the kitchen and noticed the French doors hanging wide open out to the back porch. The sheer curtains were pulled outside and billowing aimlessly. He followed them and found her on the porch. She was sitting in a swing that was bracketed to the porch roof. It was deep seated enough that she had her toes pulled on the edge and knees tucked in front of her with enough room for another, maybe two people to sit beside her. Thin green cushions cushioned her against the cool wood.

For a moment, he stopped to study just her. She was wrapped up in a thick woven wool blanket with sock covered toes peeking out underneath. She had a light rogue sweater on with the sleeves pulled around her fingers. She clutched a coffee mug that he was willingly to bet had tea in it. The morning dawn caught her hair in a halo of caramel and golden curls. It was still wild and tousled. Her eyes stared absently over the bay, watching the glittering of the sun watching the waves and boats slowly chugging along. They were tired eyes, haggard with heavy memories and her features were a little gaunt from not nearly enough sleep or regular eating. However, there played a small grin on those worry bitten lips. Despite the fragility of her frame, a strong undercurrent of magic ran through her and it allowed for just one moment of contentment.

"Had trouble sleeping too?" Her voice interrupted his musing and he didn't know when she noticed him leaning against the doorframe.

He nodded his head.

"It'll probably take a few days to get used to the time zone difference," She commented idly while tucking the blanket closer to herself, exposing the cushion beside her.

He gingerly moved towards her, accepting the obvious invitation. He eased down in the seat and the swing gave way at the motion before he relaxed against the back.

"I like to sit here in the mornings," She explained lightly, looking away from Tom and back to the bay. "And see the ships off."

He had to squint against the rising sun, but followed her gaze and said nothing.

"Sometimes I envy the simplicity of their lives," She stared at the fishing boats as she spoke. "Every morning, they wake and pray for a safe return. They face the same ocean that can be their salvation or their destruction." There was no doubting their morals, no complex magical politics, no worries of losing themselves, she went on to think to herself.

"Are you suggesting we live differently?" Tom finally spoke, a faint frown on his lips. Not one of displeasure but thought.

"Don't we?" Hermione countered with a raised eyebrow.

Tom shook his head, stretching an arm along the back of the seat casually. He took a moment to form his thoughts before speaking them aloud carefully, "You study the soul under the guise of wanting to know how _mine_ works, for obvious motives on the surface, but you truly want to know if _your_ soul is fractured. You aren't afraid of Death itself, but rather, you want to know when your time comes you will actually _die_."

Hermione stared at him, not daring to breathe as he had so casually picked her apart in so few words.

He added on with a half shrug, "It seems utterly ordinary to me."

She had to remind herself that this was not a blind guess, but a carefully observation of someone who had essentially known her for over half a year now. He had seen parts of her that she hadn't shown to her closet friends. He saw her strengths and when she fell apart.

"And what about you, Tom?" She wondered, remember there was a ' _we'_ in there. "How are you ordinary?"

"I'll define a life for myself, or some form of one," He replied without hesitating. "It may very well be my end or beginning."

Hermione tilted her head at him, her fingers running idly along the rim of the ceramic mug. "Ordinary indeed," She muttered faintly. Her eyes bore into him, searching for something. If she found it, she didn't tell him.

Instead, she changed the subject. "I'm going to need some of your blood to add you to the wards," She informed him.

He didn't bother to hide the surprise on his face.

She held a hand up to stop him. "I mean it when you had a choice to work with me," She explained firmly. "I'm not going to keep you as a prisoner here. That being said, I still have rules that we can go over later, mostly for safety reasons. My research comes first in the terms of our agreement, but there's no reason to not have certain allowances. You know what will happen if you choose to cross me. You'll find that I'm not forgiving."

Tom's expression wrinkled in annoyance at the reminder of his less than advantageous position compared to the witch. It went without say whose safety was her concern.

When he didn't argue against her, Hermione rose from her seat with the now empty mug. "Tea?" She offered him.

"Please," He clipped out shortly.

* * *

The house wards weren't the only reason she needed some of his blood, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

While Tom was upstairs unpacking his clothing, Hermione sat in the den at her desk. Before her, she had a map of Massachusetts and a vial of Tom's blood that was already half empty from modifying the wards. The idea came to her thinking of the Weasley clock and the Marauder's Map.

With a few carefully modified spells, she adjusted the map to let it zoom in and out, becoming more detailed the closer she got. The best she could do with the details was streets and some buildings. Maybe with more research and refinement, she could improve it, but it would do. The tricky part was casting the locating charm correctly. At least, to her advantage, she was only targeting one person and not an entire family or castle full.

When the glow faded away from the map, Hermione carefully poured the blood across the page. Instead of pooling out in a red splatter, the drops gathered together and shifted on the page. It hovered up towards the north end of Boston along the coast. Hermione smirked triumphantly when it took the shape of a pinpoint with a banner above it and letters formed within.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle_

Like she was honestly going to let him leave the house without being able to track him.

The letters began to flicker on the page and she froze apprehensively.

 _Lord Voldemort_

It read for just a moment, barely a blink, before they changed again. The smirk fell off her face as she watched the letters finally settle.

 _Thomas Corvinus Marvolo_

She stared at the name, almost expecting it to change again. When she heard the wood creaking upstairs and footsteps at the stairs, she tapped the map with her wand to shrink and quickly stow it away.

Even as she left the den, her mind was running through how she could have botched the locating charm. Every one she had studied had always revealed birth names.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A bit of a quiet chapter, but I wanted to take the time to set the stage for their new home. I had a few people asking about romance in this story, it will happen! I promise, in fact, I won't spoil anything but it will definitely happen before chapter 30. Keep hanging with me and it'll be worth it. Rockport is a real town I used to visit, but the house is fictional as much as I would love one like it. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	22. Chapter 22

Telling herself that she was going to give him a chance and actually doing it were two entirely different things. Even though they went over her terms of him living with her, which did include her approval to go anywhere among other things, Tom didn't immediately jump on any opportunities.

The first few days were slow as she reestablished contact with her colleagues and Tom remained almost entirely inside, except for the morning tea on the porch. She did notice he had the habit of joining her in the morning to see off the ships, even if he sometimes had nothing to say.

He also had the habit of keeping her lying awake at night. They slept in separate rooms and she was damn sure to put her locking spells in place every night. While she silenced noise coming from her room, it didn't go the other way. More than one occasion, she heard thumping and crashing coming from his room.

The first time she stared at the ceiling, clutching her wand tightly and listened to noises, waiting for the moment he left his room. She had visions of red eyes and silted nostrils coming after her. But it never happened.

One night, her wand held a glow in her room while she heard the noises again. She had the map focused on their street. She watched the name flicker back and forth between _Lord Voldemort_ and _Thomas Corvinus Marvolo_. It was nearly an hour later before it finally settled on the latter.

Yet, when she peeked into the bedroom while he was in the shower one day expecting the destruction of a small tornado, the room was fine.

It was about a week and a half later before he voluntarily left the house, aside from her dragging him to the food store with her. He surprised her one morning on the porch when he inquired about a good jogging path. They outlined a few streets for him to go down and the next day he started his morning as such, not without a threat about what body parts she would hex if he so much as thought about detouring.

Hermione shamelessly watched his flag move down the streets the entire time he was gone. The first few times she left the house after that without him, she barely put the map down. It was a wonder she got any work done or followed a conversation.

As the days ticked by, she noticed the heavy bags under his eyes. She braced herself for the day it would come.

* * *

Tom woke with a groan. The evening light was fading away, what little of it filtered through his bedroom curtains. He could taste the lingering metallic flavor on his lips and it filled his nostrils. Sporting a rather fine headache, he got up and heading down towards the kitchen. He could hear Hermione pulling out pots and pans.

"Hey," He made his presence known with a low murmur. Hermione's back was to him as she bent over in the fridge to pull out some vegetables.

Her head snapped up in his direction. There was that momentary glint in her ears, a fearful flicker like a caught doe. Only a flicker as she sought him out. Whatever she saw, it caused her to relax with a sigh. Sometimes he wondered how it was so easy for her to tell it was him and not the other ones.

"Hey yourself," She replied as she moved towards the sink. He hung by the entryway and dug his hands into his jean pockets, leaning one shoulder against the frame.

He thought back to what happened earlier. "Were you… expecting that?" He wondered aloud, remembering him losing the control. His hand moved, not by his will, coming up behind her and yanking her by the hair.

"I'm honestly surprised it didn't happen sooner. I can tell you're not sleeping well," She said somewhat defensively, but more with concern as she began to wash the carrots and celery. She was one to talk about sleeping poorly, which was why she didn't mention it earlier.

"Would borrowing some of my draught help?" She offered over the rush of water.

Tom shook his head quickly, "No." He didn't offer a reason why.

"I'm worried about you, Tom," She said softly. That earned a harsh glare from him.

"I don't need your pity," He snapped out.

Hermione stood up a little straighter and hardened her expression. "Good, you weren't going to get it," She retorted stubbornly.

Tom exhaled heavily and looked away from her. His hand reached up to his face and absently touched his lower lip. He held back a wince at the tenderness. It was quite swollen and blood clotted the split. She had a pretty decent right hook, he decided.

"Riddle was being a right foul bastard," He murmured, recalling the events with more focus now. "I think he was trying to distract me from You-Know-Who." He didn't tell her how much that idea concerned him.

Hermione pulled out a knife so she could start chopping vegetables. Thoughtfully, she looked up at him and she allowed herself to believe that he genuinely wouldn't have let it happen if he could have. It was the closest to an apology she would get.

"I'll make you a deal," She said lightly instead. "Grab some chicken from the freezer downstairs and I'll heal that up." She pointed towards his face where his jaw was starting to bruise.

He didn't say anything in response, but eventually she heard him retreat to the basement stairs.

* * *

Rationally, especially in hindsight, he knew he wasn't in danger with the glowing figure bouncing back and forth in front of the cage. That didn't stop him from letting out a loud swear and dropping the pack of frozen chicken when he went to the freezer and he turned to find _that_. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how she got it while he was knocked out.

* * *

Dinner was a horribly tense affair for only one of them he realized. The entire time, he poked at his food and watched the young woman across from him. Like so many other meals, she ate with her plate pushed to the side and her nose buried in a book. While any other person would've been a squirming puddle at the way he glowered at her, she sat there oblivious. Or she was so used to it by now, it no longer bothered her.

She had made good on her promise and he was able to chew his meal with ease, but the appetite wasn't there. Eventually, she finished the section she was on and looked up at him.

She bit her lip thoughtfully before breaking the silence, "There's something I want to talk to you about."

 _About time_ , he thought.

"I've been thinking about my research. There's no telling when exactly I'll finish it, but I do know it'll take quite some time, years maybe even," She began and he blinked in confusion. Okay scratch that, this was not what he was expecting. "And it wouldn't be fair to expect you to sit around the house all day, for lord knows how long. But just hear me out on this before you say no."

Only then she paused to breath and he watched her apprehensively. "Go on," He drew the words one at a time.

"There's several universities in Boston, some quite prestigious ones. I could probably get you enrolled before the fall classes," She mused aloud, knowing it would take some underhanded methods. With the ever growing list of laws she's broken, she didn't rank that one high though. "It would be a good way to get caught up with the world it is today and maybe figure out what you truly want."

Tom bristled at the implication, but countered coolly, "Who's to say I don't already know what I want?"

Hermione just rolled her eyes haughtily, "Power is hardly a solid foundation and look how that ended last time."

Tom's eyes narrowed incredulously on her. He choose not to correct her. Instead he gritted out, "And these universities are they… Muggle?"

"Yes," Hermione didn't back down. Even with the way Tom's expression twisted into a snarl or a grimace, she didn't know. He knew that the other two were already shouting in his head by this point and he barely listened to her next words.

"What other option is there? Seems a bit silly to rush out for a job," She went on, like she normally did when she was nervous. She just couldn't picture him doing some low wage monotonous duty. "And I can hardly just try to get you signed up for Ilvermorny. There's _not_ nearly enough hours in the day to explain the list of reasons that would never work out nor be a wise decision. Even if that hypothetically was possible at all, which it's _not,_ Merlin help you, _especially_ , if they ever found about your family heritage…"

"Excuse me?" That caught Tom's attention, pushing away the other two for the moment.

"Gaunt," Hermione stated as if it was obviously.

Tom just stared at her, his brow furrowing.

"Gormlaith Gaunt," She clarified carefully. Only faint recognition flickered across his eyes, but mostly confusion. "And what she did to the Sayre's."

Tom gave a shrug of his shoulders. He couldn't recall any fragment doing significant research into that branch of the family.

"Well, _that's_ an interesting story for another day. Remind me to order you a copy of _The Sayre's of Ilvermorny_ ," She waved that tangent away before she could get too distracted. "Will you at least consider taking some classes?"

He regarded her thoughtfully. He had to admit, he was half of mind to just agree right then simply to spite You-Know-Who shouting in his head about disrespectful Mudbloods. "Do you require an answer now?" He asked instead.

Hermione shook her head, "We still have a few months before classes resume."

"I'll consider it," He gave shortly.

Such simple words shouldn't have been enough to make her smile. He clenched his jaw tightly, fighting the reflex to return it. This little witch just might be the death of him, he thought. She relaxed in her seat and went back to her book.

After pushing some carrots around on his plate, he pushed the ridiculous notion of classes out of his head and went back to his original source of irritation.

"Hermione."

"Mhm?" She muttered distractedly, already lost in the pages.

He broke the silence with blunt words. "Why is there a Dementor in the basement?"

"Oh," She cringed, looking up at him. "I forgot about that, I probably should have mentioned that before sending you down there."

His eyebrows rose as if to say, ' _You think_?'

"I was thinking it would help my research if I can isolate souls without the interference of the body," She explained quickly. "And really Dementors are one of the few creatures I know of that can interact with a soul directly so I want to study it. The one down there will be moving tomorrow. I'm working with a few witches to find a way to magically restraint it so we can examine it up close without being… _affected_."

She paused to see how he reacted. Just about any other wizard would run screaming at the suggestion of dissecting a Dementor. She imagined Harry and Ron would rip her a new one over how dangerous it could be.

Instead, Tom sat there with an indiscernible expression. If anything, there was a hint of intrigue. It became more obvious as that index finger raised to his lower lip. "Curious to consider their ability to extract souls…" He murmured more to himself before focusing on her. "If a soul could be isolated as you suggest, do you think it could also be contained?"

Hermione shrugged, "Possibly, I don't see why not." She tried to hide how thrilled she was at his interest. "Once we refine the restraints, I was hoping bring you in to help me examine it," She put out there.

Tom nodded once, "Okay." His agreement was simple, but for reasons different than her own. Rather than dwell on it too long, he asked his own question, "Was that your Patronus down there?"

"The otter," She nodded.

He had to admit it was striking to see the gleaming little creature keep such a foul one at bay. The Dementor shrank away from its cheerful pattering instead of clawing through the bars towards Tom.

"What's yours?" She asked casually, curious now that it was brought up. She figured something serpent like.

"I don't know," Tom answered honestly. He didn't sound shameful of the fact.

"You don't?" Hermione frowned. While Dark and horrible, he had been a formidably talented wizard. She doubted it was because he didn't know how to cast it.

Tom shook his head, "I never had the… right memory."

He didn't sound remorseful after all it was hard to long for something he never understood. But it, among other things, gave him something to consider that evening.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Another quiet chapter before stuff gets messy. I had to throw in the bit about Ilvermorny because I can just so easily picture Hermione finding out about another wizarding school and pulling the first book on its history like Hogwarts. I'm trying to keep the references as close to Pottermore and such as possible. Suggesting Tom to take classes may seem odd, but I just can't picture her depriving someone of knowledge and forcing them into idleness. You guys can take guesses on some other important foreshadowing in this chapter. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	23. Chapter 23

Rock bottom hit for her on a fateful autumn day that nipped at the heels of winter. She knew it when she opened her eyes and marveled at the fact she could open her eyes again. She knew it when she heard the steady beeping of the machines beside her. She felt it in plastic foreign object lodged in her throat.

* * *

The funny thing about hitting rock bottom, she always thought it was something you saw coming. It wasn't surprising for the people that saw it happen. They always said all the signs were there. But she didn't see them, if anything she thought things had been improving.

Tom didn't immediately jump on her offer with the classes. He spent a few more days sulking around the house and that just reinforced her belief that he needed to do something. It was odd, because she found herself saying similar things to that had one time come from her friends. Now not being the target of the attention, she began to give those words some merit.

He did come around, not without a lengthy discussion about the terms of the arrangement. It wasn't like she was going to pack his lunch and send him off to the school bus. Among her terms, she agreed to Apparating him into the city near campus. He would only attend during designated class times and after the last class return promptly to Rockport. To say he was relieved that she wasn't going to try to force him to stay on campus was an understatement and a half. When it was mentioned, she actually laughed and said she wouldn't subject the residents of Boston to that.

Forging school transcripts to get him admitted as a transfer student before the fall semester ended up being a lot easier than forging international documents. Who knew?

The first week of classes she did follow him, hidden from sight, just to make sure he did actually attend. She didn't think she could be blamed for being paranoid. Eventually, she did realize she had to see to her research and nothing would be accomplished by her sitting outside of lecture halls. She did check the map religiously while he was gone to the point her colleagues started making comments on it.

A few days a week his schedule had a gap between the morning and afternoon classes, which she agreed to meet him for lunch. They usually just grabbed a bite to eat at nearby café. Truthfully, during those times, she spent more time listening to Riddle rant about the Muggles than getting to hear from Tom. She figured it was better for him to get out of his system instead of subjecting his classmates to it.

Some might think that by exposing Tom to more Muggles, maybe his opinion of them would improve. If the first two months of classes was anything to judge by, she very much doubted that their standing improved in his mind. The one thing she did notice was for all of his grumblings, whether it came from Riddle's general bigotry or even Tom muttering about the insipid intellect of the other students, it did not deter him from studying.

Every night without fail, he had the textbooks spread before him. It didn't take him long to commandeer her den. Her desk was cleared away and quickly became resident to the piles of lecture notes and textbooks. She noticed some of the money given to him for textbooks went to buying a recorder. Numerous occasions, she would peek into the den to see him with headphones and his hand scrawling across the page. Sometimes he made a list of questions for her, not specifically about the course material, but Muggle culture and references that he didn't understand. She knew why, not because he appreciated it, but he was driven by the same desire for knowledge as her and not knowing was an utterly frustrating experience.

It made for late nights of study and more than once she had to nudge him on the shoulder with the suggestion of going to bed. She thought he was sleeping better. The banging noises in the middle of the night seemed to ease up. At the time, she thought that meant he was doing better.

* * *

Now lying in a hospital bed, she realized she only saw it that way because that's what she wanted to see. Her own judgment had been clouded by what she was coping with at the same time.

* * *

One did not just simply dissect a Dementor. She did move it out as the basement as promised to Tom and to the New Salem Institute. She wasn't a fool when it came to dealing with these creatures, especially after their experiences at Hogwarts. She knew what happened to wizards that spent too much company with one.

It took some convincing to get two witches willing to work with her. They took shifts testing theories, making a point that no one witch spent too much time with the Dementor. Some things were worth sacrificing for the sake of knowledge, her magic was not one of them. The limited exposure meant slow progress, even when she did learn to stop looking at Tom's map so much. True to his word, he hadn't strayed from where he was scheduled to be when she looked. Week by week, she found herself looking at it less.

Progress was slow, first they had to devise a means of restraining the ghastly creature. It wasn't fully corporeal but it was a far cry from a ghost. Some more traditional methods it simply slipped right through. Other magical bonds seemed to have no effect, which made for another series of researching into runes and charms to find what branch of magic would work. Then there was added problem of devising tools that could be used to examine it and that posed similar challenges.

By nature of the work, it meant casting a Patronus quite frequently in those months. It was either exhaust herself with maintaining the complicated charm or allow the sinking depression permeate through her. Most days it was trying to find a balance between both.

Feeling that sinking chill to her bones almost daily, it tested her resolve. She remembered why she did it because she would hear the screams in her head every time she was close to the creature. She heard the screams of her parents. She was forced to relive the horror of losing every dear one, not just her family, but friends and Order members.

Sometimes, it just wore her down. She recalled one evening she had returned late, long after Tom had finished his classes for the day, and came into the house to find him in the living room. Her shoulders were shaking still yet from the encounter. She looked at him, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees, hunched over a few pages on the coffee table.

Without a word, she went over to him and sank into the seat beside him. He didn't usually acknowledge her when he was deep in thought. In one motion, she reached out to him and wrapped her arms around his torso. She placed her cheek against his shoulder blade and closed her eyes. She felt his shoulders go stiff immediately at the contact.

"Hermione?" The one word held all the question in it.

"Don't say anything," She demanded in a soft, hollow voice. His body was taunt and she knew it was the first time she ever reached out for him like this, but she didn't care. She just needed to feel something that was warm and alive. Even if she had to close her eyes and pretend it was someone else.

He didn't say anything. Painstaking moments went by before she felt him exhale and heard the pen started to move again. He did sacrifice one free hand to place on the forearm by his stomach. Absently, his thumb drew circles until her hands no longer felt cold against him.

* * *

All it took was falling asleep on the couch watching television one evening while Tom was locked away in the den studying. She didn't know what made this particular instance any different than the others. Now, she supposed that was the irony of not seeing it coming.

It only took ten seconds for everything to go to hell.

She woke when her inhale was stunted by a horrible pressure on her throat and chest. Her eyes snapped open and she was met by ones she could've sworn gleamed red. She gasped, struggling for air, feeling her gut compress further.

His hands were wrapped around her throat and he had a knee into her stomach to keep her down.

She tried to say his name, but she could only get the first letter out. Her hands went to claw at his. She tried to buck her hips and thrashed her legs. Too many precious seconds wasted to realize he was much stronger than her.

Her hand pulled for her wand. Only then, he shifted from his fixated snarl on her face. His hand caught her wrist in the air. The other keep firmly on her knee, shoving her jaw up painfully.

The hand kept wrapped tightly around her wrist, squeezing the bone painfully, but the wand ripped from her fingers and went flying across the room. She heard it clatter against the ground.

She wasted two more precious seconds, gasping at him. _How?_

Darkness beckoned at the edges of her vision. Her throat burned and chest ached, spasm for the air that wouldn't come. Feeling the world close in her, she fixated on that inhumane expression she could only attribute with Voldemort.

Her hands grasped at his shirt, knotting and pulling at the fabric defiantly. In her last second, she focused on _him_ and thought of the single foulest word she never had actually used on someone else.

* * *

Now she was staring at the tiled ceiling, wondering why she wasn't dead. The thought did cross her, but even hell wouldn't conjure up the sharp stench of disinfectant and blinding fluorescent lights.

Her body ached. She felt like she had been punched in the chest, or just struck by one large object. Her throat was on fire and so violated. She struggled with the urge to rip at the tube that was taped down around her mouth. Monitors beeped above her head, grating on her sensitive ear drums.

Slowly, she lifted her head off the pillow, noting the curtains pulled around her bed. She could hear clattering of the hospital beyond them. Wearily, she looked around to realize she wasn't alone. Hunched up at the bedside in a mess of arms folded over each other, a mess of black hair rested, facing away from her.

From for a moment, she willed herself to believe it was Harry. For a moment, she dreamt it was black hair laced with grey, like her father's. But reality told her, it was _him_.

She couldn't talk. Even if the tube wasn't there, her muscles ached and she didn't even want to try.

Gingerly, she lifted her left hand and reached towards him. Her fingers barely stroked a few locks before he stirred. She froze, unsure which one she would get.

The storm of his eyes were dark, almost black. "A nonverbal, wandless Cruciatus," His tone was flat with no emotion. For a moment, she didn't know which fragment it was until he said, "Your first attempt, I presume, it barely struck… yet it likely gave me the only chance I had to fight them off."

And apparently that was as far as his resolve went, his expression broke. "Hermione," Tom murmured with so much relief in one name. His expression hung exposed and raw, open with exhaustion, fear, and apprehension. He was her mirror, she realized.

Warm hands wrapped around hers, fingers covering up the red marks around her wrist in a gentle caress. She tried not to think about the fact it was the same hands that did this and tried to listen to his words. "I didn't know what else to do," His whisper was hoarse. "You wouldn't wake."

She didn't remember crying, but she felt the moisture running from near her temples.

He brought her hand near his mouth. His hands clasped around hers. He squeezed his eyes shut and she could feel his breath falling on her knees, holding her as a praying man would. His lips brushed against her skin as he murmured, "Don't leave me with them."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Phew, heavy stuff. I thought about being mean and cutting the chapter off when she passed out, but I couldn't. The next chapter will focus on the repercussions of what happened. There's a lot of implications to cover. I'm sure some of you will be upset with this chapter, but tough nuggets, it's my story. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	24. Chapter 24

She felt nauseous as she laid in that bed and listened to Tom spin such a story to the police officers. It made him sound like the endearing boyfriend coming to the rescue when she was assaulted by a strange man while getting the mail. It was a flimsy story, even she knew, having accepted the fact there would be need to be magical interference to cover this up. But it was captivating and unnerving to watch the way he swayed them to allow her to come down to the station once she had recovered to give her statement of the events.

The thought did occur to incriminate him, just for the sake of getting him out of her life. Before she was discharged from the hospital, she did entertain the fantasy of Tom being dragged away to a Muggle prison and the inevitable diplomatic mess when his fraudulent identification came to light it would make.

But it was only a fleeting fantasy, especially as she processed what happened more and more.

For that reason, she was silent while he wheeled her out of the hospital to the taxi cab at the curb. She never felt like more of a prisoner with him than that moment, realizing all the false security she had built up in her mind had been so quickly shattered.

They said nothing in the cab ride back to the house. Her throat still ached and burned, even if there was some relief to have it free of the tube.

While he paid the cab, she stood at the sidewalk and stared up at the house. She didn't know what to do or think, but the thought of going back into that house trying to face anything terrified her. As soon as that cab pulled away, turning the corner down the street, she took one look at Tom and snapped away without a word.

* * *

Shortly after, she started damning herself for not at least bringing a coat with her. She held her arms around her torso tightly, squinting through the rain and carefully dodging the other pedestrians. The lights of the city glared across her vision and the exhaust fumes were heavy on her nose.

Eventually, she slipped into a twenty-four hour diner. Going back to the cement jungle wasn't her ideal concept of an escape, but it was as far as she got wanting to go home before she realized she didn't actually know where _home_ was.

She was sure she was a rather frightful and pathetic sight. Between her soaked clothing, blood splattered eyes, and bruises on her neck, she didn't bother questioning the waitress's pampering. Even after she admitted she didn't have money with her. Merlin, she hadn't even bothered to get her wand.

The tea scalded her tongue and she ended up spending most of the time just wrapping her hands around the mug. Nervously, she bit her lip until it was tender. Over and over, the image of him strangling her ran through her mind. Even when she tried to push through the last moments and focus on the smaller her details – _like her wand_.

"Is there anyone you would like to call?" The waitress stopped in her rounds, glancing at the disheveled and battered woman.

"No, I'm fine," Hermione said so automatically, it left her lips before she gave it thought.

The waitress looked like she wanted to say more, but was torn between minding her place and stepping in.

It was only when she walked away did Hermione turn in her seat and call after her, "Actually…"

* * *

She stood behind the register counter with the dial tone drawing in her ear. For a long time, her fingers hesitated on the numbers. She knew them, but should she call? When she realized she had no one else to turn to, she did.

It rang three times before the call was picked up. There was some scuffling and static. "Hi, wait – no, rubbish thing. Hello? Can you hear me?" The feminine voice spoke.

Her lips picked up into a small smile, trying not to laugh. Oh how did her throat burn. "Yes, I can hear you," She didn't mean to rude, but she didn't want to waste words. "Is Harry there?"

"Of course, he's here. He lives here," The response came snappish at first. "Oh wait, you want to talk to him. Hold on – _Harry!_ The talky-cone wants you!"

Hermione had to pull the phone away from her ear. Ginny clearly didn't bother not to lean away before shouting.

"Telephone, Gin. It's a _telephone_ ," She thought she heard his voice, muffled on the other side.

"Whatever," Ginny muttered before the line scuffled from being handed over.

"This is Harry speaking," His greeting was short, but polite.

It was enough to draw a sigh of relief from Hermione, "Hi, Harry."

There was only a brief pause. "Who is this?" The suspicion was obvious in his tone. Better yet from his tone asking, how did you get this number?

Her voice must have sounded something awful, she figured. "It's Hermione," It scratched on the words.

She heard a swear and then the background noise from his side faded away. "Hermione? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?" The words came out in a rush.

She opened her mouth, the natural reflex to declare that she was fine came at the tip of her tongue. She always said she was fine, but it wasn't true. "No," She tried to fight the tears pricking at her eyes again. "I'm not okay. I need to see you."

"Where are you? I'll come right now," He volunteered quickly, she could hear him moving already.

"You can't!" She protested quickly.

His voice was gravelly, almost a growl. "Hermione…"

"Two weeks," She suggested. "We can meet in two weeks."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. I'm coming right –"

"It's not for me. _You_ need the two weeks," She cut him off, growing more authoritative.

"What do you mean?" That gave him pause, "Where _are_ you?"

She hesitated, deciding between a truth or lie. A glance around the diner and she figured this was as good as a place as any. "New York City," She answered him.

"Oh… _Oh_ … Fuck."

"Exactly," Hermione smirked momentarily before going on, "You need to come up with a convincing excuse to Kingsley for his Head Auror being out of the country without an agenda." They both knew that he didn't take nearly enough vacations to spring one now.

"Well, he would understand if I told –"

"No, Harry," Hermione cut him off, the exhaustion weighing heavily on her by this point. "I don't want to meet with the Ministry or the Order. I just need to see my best friend."

"What about –"

"Two weeks," She reminded him. "I'll call you in two weeks with where and when to meet." He was still protesting when she hung up the phone.

* * *

She managed to stay away for two days before trudging back up the steps of her house. Maybe it was childish of her to run away, but she felt rather justified to get the some space and think things over. She had survived off of much less before. At first, she told herself that she didn't care if Tom took off at this point. Eventually, reality and responsible crept back up and she didn't know what she would find when she returned.

It almost would've been better to find the house in flames and a Dark Mark flying above it. That would be expected.

Instead, the silence and utter normalcy of it unsettled her. Her eyes darted around, trying to spot anything that seemed out of place. Hesitantly, she opened the front door and stepped inside. The only thing out of order was her wand sitting on the foyer end table. Right where she normally dropped her keys, mockingly awaiting her.

Even though it was late at night, she felt a familiar draft through the house. Picking up her wand and she clutched it tightly as she moved into the kitchen. She didn't care she looked like she hadn't slept in two days or maybe had a certain odor from spending too much in NYC subs during that time. Her expression was pale, gaunt and the bruising had settled around her throat.

She found him sitting in her swing. Unlike her, he had changed, she barely noted his sweater and jeans. She did notice his hair wisp slightly in the breeze, lacking the usual styling. He was staring aimlessly across the bay, the waves lit by the moonlight.

"Hello, Hermione," His words were smooth as silk, but lacked warmth.

She held her wand out to him as she stepped out onto the porch, not daring to get too close. Being in front of him again, just brought everything back afresh. "How in the fuck did you disarm me?" Her voice was stronger now.

"Such language, Miss Granger," His eyes lit up playfully with the chastising, turning them on her.

"I'm not in the mood for games, Tom," She didn't smile. While it sounded liked something Riddle would say, the enthusiasm wasn't quite there.

The smirk faded away and his eyes rested on the wand pointing at him. He wasn't nearly close enough to reach out and grab it, but he didn't make any move from his seated position. She saw a heavy sigh pass through his shoulders and the mask shielding his exhaustion cracked before her.

"I didn't disarm you," He confessed frankly. "That was Riddle and You-Know-Who's doing."

"I didn't think _you_ did," She found herself saying, knowing she believed those words. Maybe she was a fool to believe it, she thought. " _How_ did they do it?"

Tom gave a half shrug so casual it seemed unnatural. "I had my suspicions that the fragments are stronger when working together," He went on. "Riddle confirmed it when he approached me about confounding your tracking charm to showing me to be where you desired – and yes," His voice changed pointedly at her expression. "I know about your quaint little map."

Any resolve she had fell down her throat and dropped into a vat of acid in her stomach, turning to nausea. Her thoughts spun faster than a tire down a highway.

"That's how you got into my room," She realized with a chill, remember that night in the hotel.

"Yes," His confirmation was short with no offered explanation.

Her wand faltered with the way her hand began to shake.

"Fuck," Her carefully crafted questions for the interrogation she had imagined went up in smoke. He could do _magic._ She didn't have a clue _where_ he's really been. She thought she had been clever, a step ahead this entire time and now she realized she wasn't even in the game. " _Shit,"_ She turned towards the railing, not turning her back on him completely, but needing both hands against it to keep herself steady.

He made no comment on her profanities this time. "It's sporadic, short bursts," He murmured, flexing his fingers and staring at his own hands. "Mostly accidental, but I suppose now I'll have better command over it."

" _Now_?" Her voice rose in pitch. She picked her head up, but still leaned heavily against the railing. "What do you mean _now_? What did you do?"

Tom sighed heavily and rose from his seat.

The action caused Hermione to stand up straight and back up a step. Her back butted against the porch post. She almost raised her wand again, however she stopped when he did nothing but settle next to her on the railing, not trying to reach for her.

"They forced my hand," His voice was a whisper on the breeze. "I didn't want to. It's too early. The others will sense what I've done."

Concern swelled up in her before she could help herself. She so seldom heard him talk like that, but it made no sense to her. "What happened?"

He didn't answer, his gaze dropped to the swell of rocks that rest on the hillside around her property. "It was logical to pick him," He told himself. "He was the weaker one and I needed his strength."

" _What_ did you _do_ , Tom?" She coaxed him in a lower voice, finding herself leaning towards him.

"Riddle's gone," He declared flatly. "I can't hear him anymore."

Hermione blinked in stun. "Like dead?" She blurted out, but no that was silly. Riddle wasn't really a person. "The soul fragment is _gone_? How?"

He shook his head, "No. The fragment is still here." A hand went to his chest, rubbing as if it ached and he struggled on the words. "It's… mine now."

She wanted to know how. She wanted to see it for herself. Yet, even then she knew there was nothing for her to see. It wasn't some flashy ritual of smoke and potions. Some day she would understand the how, but only he could answer the other question.

"Why?"

He took his time before answering. His shoulders turned towards her, but his eyes remained absently on the railing, noting some of the paint was beginning to peel. "They've wanted me out of the way for some time," He admitted. "You-Know-Who, especially. I'm a hindrance to them. They thought _me_ weak for desiring the things I do."

Hermione had to swallow away the lump in her throat in order to speak again. She wanted to ignore the flutters in her stomach and raise her wand against him, to be rational in an irrational situation. It stayed by her side, but she did ask, "Why should I believe you? Why should I believe you're different than them?"

His eyes picked up to meet hers. The grey shades drew her in like an approaching storm front. He stepped closer, face to face, "Because I believed your promise that I didn't have to be alone."

She tried to look away, feeling it like the ensnaring gaze of a predator coaxing her. She tried to tell herself that wasn't it, even though she knew it had been leading up to this for nearly a year.

A few fingers caught her chin. "Look at me, Hermione," His voice lured her to do just that. "Tell me who you see."

She didn't see a glint of red in his eyes and cold hate. She didn't see a playful smirk or flicker of mischief in his irises.

"Tom," She whispered and his eyes were the last thing she saw before she closed hers. His nose brushed against hers. She inhaled that familiar, calming scent of sandalwood and mint before she felt the tentative brush against her upper lip. It was one stroke as the fingertips on her chin brushed up her jaw. Another flicker of a promise ghosted across her lower lip before she tilted her chin up and pressed her lips fully against his.

His restraint slipped away the moment she gave in to him. His hand on her jaw slipped back into her hair, knotting in the locks and her back pressed up against the porch post. The tentative caress picked up as he discovered the way her lips moved against, meticulously learning them. Her hand reached up to him, settling on the back of his neck, holding him to her. She felt him lightly pluck the wand out of her other hand before she heard him toss it aside. This time it didn't alarm nearly as much as while she let herself _feel_ instead of think. That hand slide up into his hair, fingers rubbing against his scalp, earning a low groan against her lips. The hand that pulled the wand went to her waist, gripping her firmly as if she might disappear on him.

Tom eased back for air, but leant his forehead against hers. A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. "I should probably mention," The mirth was light in his tone. "I did find a job."

Her eyes snapped open. "What the –" The swear snuffed into a mumble, leaving nothing to the imagination, by two fingers over her lips.

The cheeky grin grew more pronounced on his expression. "I'll show you tomorrow," He promised. "My supervisor has been itching to see the reason why I refuse to work late hours."

Hermione started at him incredulously, most coherent thoughts a muddle mess by this point. It didn't escape her that it wasn't unintentional. "You really are a manipulative bastard, you know that?"

His chest rumbled with a low laughter and a broad smile. It was dark and entirely pleasant. "So I've been told, my little witch," His fingers brushed away so he could lean in and taste those lips again.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I hope you guys have been anxiously awaiting this chapter as much as I have! If you want an equally dramatic song to listen to while reading this, I suggest Roses and Violets by Alexander Jean. RIP Riddle, I know a lot of you are going to miss the little shit, but I had always planned for his time to come. I had a guest review from Elzie that had a lot of good questions so I'm going to take the time to answer them now. Feel free to skip if you don't care.

My decisions for this fic came from my interpretation of the horcruxes. I'll freely admit that it's been several years since I read the books, so if I overlook something, whoops oh well, please don't get mad. Why did I pick the ring to be the "sane" one and not the diary? The scene between Dumbledore and Tom Riddle in the second book talking about the school closing after Myrtle's death made me think there was a chance it was an accident and/or Tom was genuinely afraid of being sent back to the orphanage. I decided to run with the idea that the first kill/horcrux was accidental, chalk it up to a reckless teenager drunk on power. It could almost be excusable, but if there was a moment that Tom Riddle/Voldemort loses his last chance of being redeemable or his humanity, it's when he killed his living relatives. Tom in this story is that last shred of humanity that literally got ripped away and stuffed into a horcrux, then had sixty years to grow and develop independent of Voldemort. I envision each horcrux and soul fragment after that being fouler than the last, which is why the diadem is so vicious. The first horcrux/fragment would not only be literally the most immature, but probably least powerful as the first attempt, so I never planned on him lasting long, but his "death" being a catalyst for the next part of the story.

As far as how someone can accidentally make a horcrux, take that up with JKR. I don't think she did a good job explaining why some murders counted and others didn't, or I just overlooked it. Why Harry and not Cedric? Lily or no Lily, I'm guessing the prophecy had something to do with it. For this story, I assumed meaningful deaths or murders of significance counted. From Tom's discussion with Slughorn, it sounded like he had already started dabbling in the magic involved with creating horcruxes before he approached him. Again, my interpretation.

For this story, I would be wary about taking Tom's words at face value. At the time he told Hermione how he made the first two, he obviously wasn't trying to reveal what he was and manipulated his words to his advantage. Innocent isn't the word I use for him. He never apologized or showed remorse for what he did. The only thing he admitted is that creating the horcruxes didn't go exactly the way he had planned.

Between this note and the chapter, I hope that answers some questions. I know there's still tons more, but we still got a long ride.

Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	25. Chapter 25

The next morning, Tom was pulling a shirt on over his head as he left his room. While Riddle had on more than one occasion enjoyed going downstairs in only his pajama pants, Tom didn't think that would be a smart stunt to pull after last night. He paused by Hermione's door. The off white painted wood didn't appear to be any different, but it tickled at his senses. Curiously, he raised his hand to it. His fingers didn't even come into contact before they were shocked harshly and his eyes widened.

 _She does not trust us_ , the other fragment hissed venomously in his head. Heavier wards, darker ones, Tom noted.

"No," Tom disagreed aloud in a low whisper. "She distrusts you and me for different reasons, not _us_." It was a simple fact he needed to change and he wasn't going to throw himself in lot with the other one.

He would find a way to win the trust of his sole companion, he decided.

* * *

Hermione was sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen when Tom came downstairs. She had a bowl of oatmeal and sliced apples in front of her. She purposely sat with her back to the wall and full view of the kitchen.

Tom smirked at her briefly, his eyes passed over her form. Unlike him, she was already dressed for the day. The bruising around her neck was gone, either concealed or healed. From the weariness in her eyes, he doubted she got much, if any sleep. However, she was showered, hair afresh in a long braid, and dressed in black robes.

She was trying to bait him with the robes. He wouldn't tell her where he worked, insisting on showing her. She thought maybe she could narrow it down by dressing as a witch and having to be told what would be more appropriate. He didn't take the bait.

He was half way through a bowl of cereal in front of her before she couldn't take it anymore. She could tell he was toying with her, lightly, with the silence.

"So I take it you didn't actually go to those classes," Hermione stabbed at the warm goo that didn't seem as appetizing now. She was still trying to get a good grasp at just how badly she miscalculated him.

"Only the mandatory ones," His amusement showed brightly. It wasn't a full smirk or playful glint in his eyes like Riddle. It was either one or the other for Tom before he went to the other extreme with a full open laugh. There was doing it half way when it came to him.

"Aren't _all_ classes mandatory?" Hermione glared morosely down at her bowl. Skipping class wasn't in her forte at Hogwarts.

He flashed a smug grin, "Only when the professor consciously notices your absence. The rest I had classmates record the lectures."

Hermione gaped at him. She mentally cursed herself for not thinking more of the fact he spent so many late hours studying. Or rather hearing the material for the first time.

Tom misread her expression for scoffing at his method. "Don't look at me like that, Hermione," He raised a cool eyebrow. "I didn't _coerce_ the students. I hardly have enough of a soul right now to risk tearing it up any more, don't you think?"

She shook her head, as if willing the words to fall out of her ears and un-hear them. "Do me a favor and don't ever lead with _that_ being the main reason why you shouldn't torture someone again."

Tom hid his smile behind his last spoonful of cereal.

"What does your employer think of your class schedule?" She fished for more information.

"They're accommodating," He stated with a shrug before adding on with a smirk. "In fact, they appreciated my willingness to integrate and further understand the _Nomaj_ community."

With that, he rose from his chair, leaving a pale stricken speechless Hermione behind. He left her with a comment to be ready to leave when he was done changing. She had wished he had told her to change after all.

* * *

Facing the reality that there was no chance he had taken up a Muggle occupation, Hermione resigned herself to open in the Floo connection of her seldom used fireplace. She was staring at the now alit flames absently when she heard his footsteps coming down. Turning towards him, her arms fell from being folded across her chest limply to her side.

His hair was smoothed down his signature part with a wave to the locks. His strong jaw and cheekbones were sharply defined against the contrast of his fine black robes. He was adjusted a silver wristwatch below his sleeve while she stared at him. More importantly, she knew the meaning behind the burnt red strips that capped his shoulders and the symbol of the curved eagle head and spread wings insignia on his chest.

She covered her eyes with her hands, rubbing aggressively at them. "Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke, or a nightmare, anything, _some_ thing not real," She muttered, not caring how pathetic it sounded.

"Afraid not," Tom chuckled, approaching her slowly.

Her hands went up to wring through her hair. She blurted out thoughtlessly in frustration, "But how in the fuck–"

"Did you just stomp your foot at me?" He blinked.

"Did you pull that off?" She ignored his interruption. " _How_?"

Two hands gently pulled her wrists away from her face. "While I commend your thoroughness of our identifications, least not forget which one of us actually _is_ a Slytherin," He murmured. Then paused amended as an afterthought, "That and they don't do extensive checks on clerical positions."

Hermione calmed, but still struggled on her words and the inevitable threat of a headache. She let out a few choice words that vaguely resembled English.

"Ladies first?" Tom suggested, tilting his head towards the fireplace. He rather not be late on her behalf.

His tone said it all. He had already warned her that he wouldn't force her to come with him today, but she wasn't going to back out. With that wary thought, she picked up a handful of the glittering green powder.

She tossed in the fire and called out the building of the organization she had spent must time avoiding, but never stepped foot in, "Woolworth Building, MACUSA."

* * *

They appeared in a large lobby with vaulted ceilings and marble floors. In a way, it reminded her of the Ministry of Magic, but this one was much larger. On either side, several witches and wizards arrived in their morning commute, wearing similar robes to Tom. They filtered out to several set of revolving doors where the busy streets of New York City carried on. Tom offered his elbow to her and she placed her hand in the crook of his arm before they stepped into the doors. Instead of emptying out onto the NYC streets, the doors spun in a whirl of kaleidoscope colors. She felt a tug at her naval bringing them upwards.

The MACUSA Atrium was located towards the top of the Woolworth Building. The revolving doors opened up into a massive expanse that had Hermione gasping. Sunlight filtered through in golden rods from the glass windows of the cathedral style paneling hundreds of feet above them. Gold trim details lined the steel pillars and black accents brought a sharp, but elegant contrast to the interior design. A large gold seal of the curved eagle laid in the stone beneath their feet as they crossed over the main Bridgeway towards the inner elevators. Hermione chanced a glance down over the railing as they walked. She gave a gulp at the hundreds of stories that led down.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" Tom whispered next to her ear. She didn't respond, but she knew what he meant. That feeling that swelled up in her chest was the same one she had the first time she walked through Hogwarts. She didn't want to admit how good it felt to still be awed by the magical world without it being overshadowed by death.

A large four faced clock hung in the center of the atrium, in front of a large tapestry of the current leader. Upon closer inspection, she realized it didn't show the time, but threat level. The main hand rested upon _Unexplained Activity_. Morbidly, she wondered if it knew of the Dark Lord wandering through the heart of the American wizarding community.

He thrived in this environment she realized as he led her through visitor check in, to the elevators and a stop at a few offices. He moved with purposeful, steady strides. His robes gave him the appearance of a smooth glide across the cool stones. He turned the charm on when necessary and remained stoic the rest. He gave just the right amount of eye contact to appear sincere, but she knew the dead disinterest behind them. He smiled politely at the right time and complimented appropriately. She had no wonder how he convinced an entire school he was the perfect Head Boy or how he talked old pureblood ladies out of their riches for pennies. She shuddered to think what amount of followers he would've had if he kept that face.

He checked her in at the visitor's office, where she was given a badge and had to produce her wand permit. It reminded her of yet another thing to add to the ever growing list of things she needed to talk to him about. After that, they headed towards the inner elevators. Stepping inside, she immediately noticed the walls were covered in gold engravings. Looking at it closer, she realized it was every level of the building with the department or committee identified next to each.

"Level 37," Tom called out and Hermione glanced around them. They were the only ones in the elevator as the doors closed.

"General Proceedings added to the queue," A disembodied feminine voice replied. Hermione followed Tom's gaze to see the two words burn in red lettering on the ceiling. Since they were the only ones, it was listed first.

"What department do you work in?" Hermione asked after the elevator started to move, idly reading some of the names.

"Body for the Protection of Magical Species," He answered lightly.

Hermione said it all with the way she raised her eyebrows at him.

He half shrugged in response. "The openings were limited, it was that or Wand Permits," His lip curled up at the drudgery of that department. He went on confidently, "I'll move up in due time."

Hermione shook her head, still feeling the need to pinch herself to remind herself this was real. "I never pegged you for the Ministry type," She mumbled aloud.

Tom's eyes narrowed on her sharply at that. She could feel his bicep tense under her hand. "I never got the chance to pursue _my_ interests," He reminded her in smooth, but biting words. "And eventually, this position will have other added benefits."

She didn't want to know, but she couldn't _not_ know, so she found herself asking, "Such as?"

"As someone with the inability to truly die, forever is not only a long time to hide, but impossible," He spoke to her in a low hush. "Eventually, the Ministry will have to make a choice. Either publically acknowledge their failure to defeat You-Know-You or attempt to apprehend an established MACUSA official and risk the ire of a magical community six times their size."

The icy shade of his eyes sliced through her, not because the words hurt, but the chill of the logic behind them.

The elevator slowed, not at their level, but the doors allowed for another passenger. He was a man close to Tom's age, dressed in similar style robes. He had a gruff appearance with a semi-permanent scowl to him.

"Thomas," He acknowledged Tom with a nod before stepping in. He stood on the other side of Tom. "Level 7," He called out. Department of Magical Law Enforcement appeared on the ceiling, but took priority and bumped their stop to second.

"Gareth," Tom returned the gesture. He noted the bags under the man's eyes. "Difficult night with your grandfather?" He guessed.

The man gave a strained snort, "Senile old bag still thinks he's hunting Scourers. He set his pants on fire."

Tom gave a tight lipped polite nod, "How unfortunate."

Gareth gave a motion that wasn't quite a shrug.

Hermione, who had been suddenly very interested in studying the carpet, wanted to hex Tom when he brought the attention to her.

"Gareth, I'd like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Hermione Dagworth," Tom smirked down at her. A hand moving to the small of her back, nudged her to be polite and play along.

Only then did the man look towards Hermione. Automatically with years of habit, he reached his hand out towards her, "Gareth Graves, Assistant Director of Magical Security."

"Pleasure," Hermione did her best to smile and hoped she didn't look like she was sweating as much as she actually was.

She was all too relieved when her hand dropped from his and he turned back to Tom.

"Commissioner Williams mentioned your name came up on the recent filings," Gareth pointed out with the curiosity in his tone.

"It's never too early to start the process," Tom replied effortlessly. "Hermione and I are quite taken with this side of the ocean." He made a point of wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. She felt a flush on her cheeks, but maintained the polite grin, or so she hoped.

"Smart move," Gareth nodded in approval. "You should've seen the International Quidditch Tournament security negotiations. Their Head wanted to send _his_ Aurors," He rolled his eyes. "Brits in Texas, could you imagine?"

Tom chuckled for more reasons than he knew as the elevator dinged. "I'll see you at Gen Pros, Marvolo," Gareth nodded before disappearing.

* * *

"All rise for President Samuel Quahog."

Tom and Hermione were among the many in the auditorium that rose to their feet. After stopping to compose herself in a bathroom, Tom had led her down the proceedings hall. He explained that there were weekly sessions that were open to all Ministry personnel to oversee, as part of maintaining administrative transparency. They covered a range of topics from custom updates, significant magical activities to updates on bills passing through.

Now, she sat next to Tom among the mass of red and black robes. She had to squint in order to make out the features of the MACUSA President, but they could hear all the proceedings through _sonorus_ spells. Tom had a Quick-Quotes Quill recording for him. Periodically, he would pull the sheet away to add his own notation before rolling the parchment and tossing it over his shoulder. At the toss, it would disappear with a snap to its interdepartmental recipient. Hermione noticed he was one of many in the audience doing the same thing for other departments.

He followed the proceedings with a rapt interest that most men she knew normally reserved for Quidditch or football. Occasionally, he offered his own comments to her.

"Vice President Roche is one to keep an eye on," Tom leaned towards her to whisper without taking his eyes off the semi-circle of seated higher officials. "If given the opportunity, he would reinstate Rappaport's Law."

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and sat a little straighter at the familiar name from _History in North America_ , "The one repealed in 1965?" She frowned, recalling the details. "That bill was barbaric and completely discriminatory."

Tom inclined his head in a manner that she wasn't sure if it was a shrug or nod, "Not to mention ignorant and impractical."

Hermione gripped the armrests of her chair tightly, trying to still the shake of her hands from the nerves that had been tearing at her since they arrived. She turned and studied the profile of Tom's face.

She knew today wasn't just about building his image as a well-balanced young man with a hopeful future in the administration. He was doing it do send her a message as well. Now, she was faced with wondering who exactly was sending the message.

"Why stay?" Hermione asked him after they moved into visitation requests of foreign officials. She thought Tom made his point rather effectively. He didn't need her in order to adapt and survive. He was already well on his way to building his own persona here. "You could have left me," She said it bluntly without want.

"Don't allow your insecurities to overshadow your strengths, Hermione," Tom's words were buttery, to the point she almost missed the chastising. "You have many that are advantageous to me. You know I have an invested interest in the success of your research, among other things."

She tried to hide the flush in her cheeks by raising an eyebrow, repeating his last words, "Among other things?"

Tom half shrugged, "As of late, I'm rather fond of anything that angers You-Know-Who." The resentment for having his hand forced was evident in his eyes.

Hermione bristled. She knew she was using him and he was using her, but she still found her suggesting in cold words, "Like kissing filthy Mudbloods?"

Tom turned his attention to her sharply at that. His eyes flickered with a dangerous glint and a pronounced smirk. "While it certainly garnered the desired reaction," He leant close enough to feel his nose brush against her ear as he whispered, " _That_ I did for myself."

She was certainly she couldn't hide the blush at that point, but she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the proceedings in front of them. She bit her lip hard enough that she was surprised she wasn't tasting blood yet. She wasn't going to dignify him with a response.

She was still torn between wondering if she had unknowingly offered up the American wizarding community to the Dark Lord or simply a man that been denied his own opportunity at living. Both craved power and held ambition, but she only knew the outcome of one.

"Anything else for Visitation Requests?" President Quahog's voice carried through the auditorium, he was shuffling the papers in front of them and preparing to move onto the next topic.

"Actually, this one just came in this morning," The Customs Director fidgeted with the tie around his neck as he read from his forms. "For a one week request of Harry James Potter, Head Auror of the British Ministry of Magic."

Several heads picked up along the official high table, not just the crowd, including the President. "Did you arrange this, Walt?" Quahog asked, looking down the table towards the DMLE Head. He received a head shake in response.

"Personal or business justification?" Quahog turned back to the Customs Director.

"Personal."

Quahog narrowed his eyes, leaning forward in his chair, "Can that be collaborated?"

"Yes, sir," The man fumbled before finding the right sheet and reading from it, "Oliver Wood, former schoolmate and Keeper of Puddlemere United, confirmed offering a ticket to the upcoming match in Rochester."

At that, Quahog leant back in his seat. He was a shrewd looking man with a gaze as sharp as an eagle's talon. While he seemed placated, he obviously wasn't completely satisfied, "Request granted, but tag it."

Hermione let out a deep breath she didn't realize she was holding in. While the rest of the auditorium carried on, she turned to see Tom glaring at her darkly. Any amusement or playfulness in his expression was gone and his lips were set in a thin line.

She couldn't help but indulge in a moment of pettiness. "Oops," She shrugged her shoulders unsympathetically and mimicked his late night words, "I should probably mention, I called Harry."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone, it looks like reviews are acting up, but please continue to submit them. I can still read them and respond accordingly. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I tried to incorporate as many elements as I could from the upcoming movie, but I adapted things here and there, such as Gareth being a descendent of Pervical Graves. I enjoyed this chapter for introducing more of the American wizarding culture but it also levels the playing field between Hermione and Tom, since she gets to witness how much she doesn't have the upper hand all the time.

Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	26. Chapter 26

Hermione tapped her foot anxiously as she sat in the booth and checked the time once more. Her fingers fidgeted with the handle of the ceramic mug in front of her. She only thought it fitting to meet him in the same diner she had called him from. At least this time she had a chance to get her wits about her.

The bell of the front door chimed and she sat up straighter. Only to slump back down in her seat when she realized it was just another Muggle coming in for Sunday brunch.

She was stirring her spoon in a fresh cup of coffee when she heard. Looking up, she spotted him coming towards her with quick strides. "Harry!" She rose out of her seat and moved towards him. He caught the embrace quickly, letting out a grunt from his chest that was mixed with a sigh of relief.

"Who did you punch in fourth year?" He whispered next to her ear after recovering a moment.

"No one," She thought after a moment. "It was Malfoy, third year. The spell you knocked out the troll with first year?"

" _Wingardium leviosa_ ," He grinned before pulling back, keeping his hands on her shoulders to get a good look at her.

"Listen, Harry," She chanced a glance around him, trying to warn him without letting him know how she knew. "I think there's a good chance you may have been followed."

"I know," He nodded right away. "I've been tailed since I got here. I lost them, I should be okay for about an hour if I don't use my wand." While he had to admit the extent of the American traces was normally helpful, at the moment it was hindrance.

As they settled into the booth, sitting across from each other, his eyes darted over her. The relief was evident on him, but he was still tense, even as the waitress came by asking if he wanted coffee. He nodded and after she left, he asked, "Is _he_ here?" He looked around, almost as if expecting him to pop out.

"No, I knocked him out and left him at home," She answered him solemnly, staring down at her mug.

Harry gave a humorless chuckle, at least until he noticed her expression didn't change. "Wait, you're serious," He deadpanned incredulously. "How does that work exactly? Knocking out Voldemort?" Somehow he just couldn't picture it. "Did you hit him over the head and lock him in a broom closet?"

"It wasn't quite that violent," She murmured quiet. The look alone Harry gave her urged her to go on. "Dreamless Draught. Tom wasn't thrilled with the idea, but even he admitted he probably couldn't control You-Know-Who around you."

She watched him open and close his mouth a few times before he could speak again. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, "You say that as if they're two different people."

"Well, they are. Sort of," She cringed. "It's bloody complicated."

"Un-complicate it, Hermione," Harry frowned at her. "The last time I saw you, you dumped me in a swamp with a shite excuse. Tell me what's really going on and so help me if you say everything is fine. I will drag you back to London, I don't care if Kingsley sacks me on the spot."

Hermione took the verbal lashing in stride from her longtime friend. She had almost expected worse, but he had been always gentle with her. He had never been the type to shout and carry on like Ron could. She glanced down to his hands, noticing the faint scar on the back of his. It reminded her of all the times she had lied to him. The present was as best as any to give the truth a chance.

"You're right, I haven't been fine for a long time," She whispered.

"I know," Harry admitted. "And I know it's not the same for us. You knew your parents, you remembered being loved by them."

The waitress came back with coffee and cream. Harry politely thanked her and waited for her to walk away before speaking again. "You know what I hoped for every time I stopped at your shop?"

Hermione shook her head as she took a sip of her drink.

"One day it would be boarded up and closed. I wouldn't need a farewell or an explanation because I would know then that you had finally moved on," He said wistfully before faltering. "I just wasn't expecting it under these circumstances."

She gave him a sad smile. The guilt twisted in her stomach, but nonetheless, it gave her the strength she needed to keep going. "You remember my last letter?"

"The insanely cryptic one from months ago? The _only_ one?" There was still a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Right," She flinched momentarily, that one was well deserved. "When we destroyed the horcruxes, we didn't actually kill the soul fragments. They have been free this whole time and would have been no matter what we did or what I've done."

Harry nodded grimly, having accepted that fact for himself and let her continue.

"Except for the ones that were trapped in a living body," Hermione said meaningfully.

Harry knew that look. It gave him hope because it was the promise it had always delivered in the past. "You have a plan," He stated, not as a question.

Hermione nodded, "I believe if I can get all the remaining fragments gathered in the same body, he will be mortal. This madness can finally come to an end."

It was just a theory, but it gave him more hope than he had in months. "Okay, what do you need me to do?" He shifted anxiously in his seat.

"Keep the Order and the Ministry off my back," She replied.

"Hermione," He growled in frustration.

"I mean it, Harry," She protested, knowing that tone in his voice he had used time and time again on her. "I still don't know where two of the fragments are and I need to find a way to harness and manipulate them. I'm keeping a few of them close now, but you know that wouldn't last if the Order or Ministry started meddling."

"But we could help you," He disagreed.

She shook her head stubbornly. "They wouldn't approve of my… methods."

His shoulders sagged with the implication. "You're using the Dark Arts, again," He surmised.

Hermione had the good sense to seem sheepish about it, "I have resources here that lean more Grey like me."

"I don't like this, Hermione," His gaze moved with worry out to the window beside them. "Before I knew if anyone could keep their head about them, it would be you. But now with Voldemort?"

" _Especially_ because of Voldemort," She remained firm. "I have more of a reason now than ever to."

Harry leant back in his seat, his arms folded over his chest tightly. The disapproval was written all over him.

"I started this, Harry," She urged him gently and fiercely. "I need finish it."

Emerald eyes bored into his, searching for a crack in her resolve, a weakness anywhere in her words.

"If we do this," He spoke finally with strong reluctance. "I have my terms too, but I need to know can you?"

Hermione cocked her head slightly at him, not quite catching his mean.

"You've already been living with him for a year," He pointed out bluntly. "When the time comes, will you be able to kill him?"

Swallowing back the sick feeling that reality brought, she kept her expression leveled and gave him the only response she could think of, "Of course."

* * *

She was washing dishes in the sink when he returned the house from work. She looked over her shoulder and greeted him softly before turning back to scrubbing the plates in soapy water.

"Are you alright?" He asked of her, she could hear him opening the refrigerator door. "After this morning?"

"It wasn't that bad this time," She shrugged it off, using the increasingly normal standard of whether or not he left any marks to go by. She got the stunner off rather quickly that time. Ever since her meeting with Harry, they danced around the subject. The first two times Tom brought it up, he ended up slipping into You-Know-Who before the conversation was finished.

"You might want to think about taking a few less classes next semester," Hermione suggested lightly as she set a plate aside to dry before moving onto the next. Granted in her defense, when she registered him, she didn't know he would have a full time job too.

"I can held the course load," Tom disagreed sharply, fishing through a drawer for a bottle opener.

"I'm not suggesting you can't," Hermione clarified, pausing what she was doing to see him opening a beer bottle. "Just maybe, that you shouldn't."

He gave her a pointed look and leant back against the countertop.

"You need to take care of yourself, Tom," She said carefully, not trying insult him. "He comes out more when you're exhausted."

She had trouble reading his eyes as they bore into her. He raised the beer to his lips and took a long sip. It wasn't long before he discovered he rather favored the Nomaj beer over the sickly sweetness of Butterbeer.

"You may have a point there," He conceded calmly.

Hermione gave him a lopsided grin before it disappeared with a hiss. "Damnit," She looked down at her arm. She hadn't even realized she had been scratching it until the scab broke open.

Tom set the beer aside and crossed over to her while her hands went for a towel to dry them. He stepped up behind her. "Allow me," He spoke next to her ear and caught her forearm.

She felt his robes pool around her and the warmth of his body on her back, but didn't say anything as she watched his thumb brush over the angry red letters. Instead of smearing blood against the pad, her skin tingled and itched with the forming of a new scab, albeit thin but enough to stop bleeding.

"Your wandless is improving," She observed with mixed emotions. Now the truth had been revealed, it still unsettled her sometimes to see him cast simple lighting charms or summon an object across the room. She wasn't sure she quite believed him when he told her that he wasn't interested in relying on a wand. He had sworn to learn from the mistakes of the others, including a quest for an all-powerful wand among them. It wasn't until she noticed the way he left the wand she had given him in London lying around the house as carelessly as the television remote did she think he was serious.

"Hardly," He frowned, he was a far cry from being competent in his opinion. He didn't step away from her, his thumb continued to stroke over the inflamed wound. Years later it was still as raw as if it happened a week ago. "I know the curse that caused this," He decided. "When I'm strong enough, I'll counter it."

The urge to thank him died in her throat. She couldn't thank him when he represented the reason why it was there in the first place.

"Do you wonder how different things would have been if you weren't trapped in that ring?" She found herself asking him instead, still refusing to turn around and look at him.

"No," His response came without hesitation. She heard a deep intake behind her as he crafted his words. "I've accepted that life has inevitabilities. The Riddles were never going to survive that night. His path was set. If I wasn't torn out that night, it would've been another. Just as I've accepted your hate, no matter what form I came to you as, whether a horcrux, a snake or a man."

She closed her eyes tightly, wanting to believe his words to be true. But even in her gut, she knew they weren't. "I don't hate you, Tom," She whispered. The hand on her forearm pulled away, but the rest of him didn't move. Hesitantly, she turned around to face him. For a moment, she was taken back by how close he stood, looming over her.

"Believe me, I tried _so_ hard to," She admitted honestly, staring into clouds of suspicion and confusion with the thin lining of hope. "But I don't hate you."

Slowly, he reached up to touch her cheek. It started as a tentative brush of his fingertips before he calmed it in his palm. "Tell me anything, Hermione," He demanded, leaning close enough for their exhales to mix together.

She didn't back away as his nose brushed against hers. "Tell me you care for me and I'll believe you," His lips whispered the words against the corner of her mouth.

"Tell me to fight them for you and I will," He promised, drawing a shiver along her spine with the headiness of his words.

"Why?" She asked of him, leaning back enough to open her eyes and look at him. "Why do you need me to say those things?"

"I am selfish too," His words laced through her with absolute confidence. "I want the feel the world at my hands and I don't want to do it alone. Tell me you and I are not the same and I won't believe you."

She tried to tell herself that he was just manipulating her. Each time she did, it carried a little less conviction.

"Fight for me," She surrendered those three words and then to him when he closed the distance between them.

He captured her lower lip between his. She tasted a hint of hops on his breath as they traded caresses before it gave way to his taste. His hand curled into her locks and the other moved around her waist to pull her against his chest. She looped her arms loosely around his neck. She felt the tip of his tongue run along her bottom lip. With a pleased sigh, she tilted her head to the side and granted him access. She shivered and melted to the intoxicating feeling of the sensations he elicited from his lips down to her toes.

Harry's question haunted at the back of her mind. She wasn't so sure.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Reviews are still broken but I emailed support so keep submitting them and I'll answer them when it's fixed. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'm sure some of you will be happy to see Hermione being honest with Harry for a change. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	27. Chapter 27

She Apparated them to Salem on a misting morning, when the chill of the air half froze the drops before they slicked their clothes. It wasn't hard to blend in with the Muggle crowds when they approached the old Ward house. While the tourists went through the doors for a tour, Hermione and Tom followed along the property to the backside, near the old servant's entrance. Tom stood a few paces back, glanced either way and gave her a nod. She tapped her wand in a specific pattern against the wood panels before they gave a quiver. They shuffled in and under each other, like the gathering of a card deck before revealing a second entrance.

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I believe the answer lies in Dementors._

 _I had wondered what happened when the soul was torn apart too many times. Why couldn't I find any records beyond Sarah Winchester? Is thirteen not just a magically powerful number, but the limit? No one knows how a Dementor is created. Even with all the ghastly rumors about the ones made in Azkaban, no one really knows how it happened. Is it possible for a soul to tear until it warps and becomes something else entirely? Maybe that's why Dementors crave souls, to fill the void of their own._

 _At least, it's just a theory._

 _Take care,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

They descended a set of stairs that seemed to carry on forever into the depths of the earth with only the occasional torch along the walls. Eventually, the tunnel leveled out and opened up. There was a lone witch sitting behind a desk with her feet propped up. She had a small paperback novel in her hands and Muggle headphones in her ears. Her robes blended into the shadows, as did her dark hair, contrasted by fair skin. Beyond her, there was a heavy barred door with a small window. It reminded Hermione of something from the dungeon's of the worst prison.

"Wand," The witch had ignored them entirely until they tried to stride pass. Both stopped in their steps. "Not you," She spoke without looking up from her page and pointed a finger at Tom, "You."

"Why me?" Tom frowned at the witch, not even sure if she would hear him over the buzzing of the music from her Muggle device.

She just kept her palm open towards him while licking her thumb to turn the page with her other hand. "Institute rules," She sighed with monotonous repetition. "Non-members are not allowed inside with theirs."

Tom turned to Hermione at that. The brunette just gave a shrug of her shoulders to confirm it, not seeming particularly surprised.

With a sigh, Tom reached inside his jacket for the object in question. "Useless stick," He muttered under his breath as he handed it over to the security witch. No matter, he didn't rely on it anyway, he thought.

Only then did the witch look up from her book with a deep set frown. She rolled the wand around in her fingers as she pulled off the headphones. Critical azure eyes narrowed on him. "This wand is not loyal to you," She didn't question but state.

"I'm aware of that," Tom clipped shortly. He wouldn't say it resisted him, but there was no warmth in it.

She dropped her feet and leant her elbows against the desk to study him closer. Her hands caressed the wand delicately in front of her, but she looked up at him. "The wand loyal to you as a phoenix feather core, doesn't? Yew wood, thirteen and a half inches, maybe." She then pursued her lips, ignoring the darkening of his expression and the paling of the woman beside him. "Or perhaps, not yew. Hmm, yet not oak, willow or vine... But what?"

"That's enough, Seraphina. Such a wand was destroyed, that is his wand now," Hermione choose then to cut in, not amused in the least by her toying with him nor wanting to divulge more. "Are we good to go?"

She received a wiry smirk before the witch gave an exaggerated incline of her head. The lock of the dungeon clicked open at that.

"What was that?" Tom asked only after the door shut firmly behind them.

Hermione gave a roll of her eyes, "Her father is a wandmaker. It runs in the family."

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _We finished the restraints. We can start examining the first Dementor. I haven't decided how I feel about this yet. How do you conduct a postmortem examination upon a creature that represents death itself? It cannot be killed, but is what I'm cutting into truly living?_

 _Miss you,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

No matter how many times she brought him to the New Salem Institute, he dreaded the moment they came around the bend towards heavy metal door of her assigned experiment room. He knew it was there every time with the drop in the temperature. Thin ice coated the walls, his breath was visible in the air.

It didn't compare to the screams he would hear. The memories that assaulted his senses and threatened to slip control to the other one. He never heard the same one twice, there were so many.

"What do you hear?" He asked of her, too cold to feel grateful for the way she waited for him to recover and brace himself.

"Bellatrix, sometimes," She answered him in a flat tone. "Usually my parents."

 _Tell her_ , the other one hissed in his head with glee. _Tell her how they died. Tell her what you did._ _Watch it crush her_.

Tom shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. No, he needed to focus on her to keep himself in the present. "Dolohov," He forced the words out. "He… fixated on you."

 _Don't be coy_ , he continued to hiss. _Tell her how he boasted about what he would do the mother of the Mudblood. He promised to make the father watch._

Tom squeezed his eyes shut and continued to shake his head, "Nott. He helped Dolohov track them."

 _Tell her they didn't even matter. They were nothing,_ he hissed. _Go on, tell her what you said when Dolohov made the request. They were only worth one word and you condemned them;_ _ **Enjoy.**_

"No, no," Tom disagreed, shaking his head more violently. "I didn't do that."

"Tom," Her voice interrupted.

He opened his eyes to find her facing him down, her chin raised defiantly. "Can you do this?" She asked of him. There was no concern in her gaze, but dead set determination.

He wasn't sure if she was just asking about the experiment. He gave a forced nod. He also noticed the way her wand shook with a tight white knuckled fist.

* * *

 _Harry,_

 _Would it be wrong of me to feel gratified by its screams, not because they please me, but it deserves so much more for the pain it's caused? Murder warps and tears the soul, but what I'm harming has no soul. Does that still count?_

 _Hermione_

* * *

The Dementor was strapped down to the table by bindings that has a faint pinkish glow to them. It was wrapped around the torso, the legs or rather where they would be on the deathly shade. A strap ran across its shoulders, wrists and forehead. It had a muzzle covering its mouth. The creature shuddered against the restraints, more violently since their arrival.

Tom and Hermione stood on either side of its head. Between them floated a tray with her custom rune-inscribed tools.

"I'm thinking a three inch incision here," She pointed out the location on its neck. "We can go up behind the jaw bone from there, but we'll have to play it by ear with what we find."

Tom gave a nod, assessing the foul creature up close in a manner that he never had before.

The moment she picked up the scalp and began to cut into the dry, cracked decaying flesh, the Dementor began to scream. It was a harsh shrill, even with the muzzle. It made her grimace, seeming worse than a Mandrake's cry, but she kept determined focus on her hands.

"Clamp," She called out the tools as she needed them and Tom's hands were quick to produce the needed support. His fingers shook as did hers, from the cold and noise. Between them and the creature thrashing against the restraints, work was slow and difficult.

It didn't take her long to notice that it leant away from her touch as much as possible and its head seemed to jerk towards Tom. "What's it saying?" She asked over the retched noise echoing off the walls.

"It's begging," Tom smirked darkly, staring at the hollow sockets of its eyes.

Hermione had heard of the Dementors' telepathic ability to communicate with wizards but never witnessed it firsthand. She paused to watch Tom lean a little closer to it.

"I'm not your Lord," He sneered.

* * *

 _There was an accident today. I'm still not sure I fully understand what happened._

* * *

He decided whoever suggested that time slows down when things go horribly wrong was a fool. You don't get more time to process and respond. You're lucky if you even realize how or why everything went to hell in a handbasket.

He did see the wrist binding closest to Hermione give way. He didn't see the other one that went too before the creature thrashed out.

One arm struck against his chest, sending him back against the wall.

He didn't see the way the other hand reached with its black claws and caught a handful of Hermione's hair. She gave a cry as her head was jerked back.

His head swayed, his skull throbbing from the crack against the stone and his vision stung. Too many precious seconds were wasted he realized when he looked up from the floor to see the muzzle beside his feet. Hermione's face was already beginning to blur with the pull of the creature's breath.

" _No_!" A voice that didn't sound like his shouted.

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I have a new theory for our Dementor restraint issue. Most of the materials I've used against them, they seem impervious to. Much like the horcruxes we tried to destroy. While Fiendfyre would destroy any test specimen, there is one task you can help me with. Go to the Chamber of Secrets and retrieve a few Basilisk fangs. I should be able to ground them into a powder and use them in a serum to weaken the Dementors. You'll probably have to smuggle the substance to New York yourself. They don't screen foreign officials as closely as the tourists._

 _It would be nice to see you before Christmas._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

Tom raised his hand towards her, reaching desperately.

A silver burst with a blue hue to it erupted from his fingertips and shot towards the Dementor.

It crashed into its hold on Hermione before dissolving. It shrank away just long enough for her to slip from its hold and stumble backwards. She pulled her wand while she lost her balance and Tom scrambled towards her.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" She shouted and the otter bound from the tip of her wand with the flick of the wrist motion.

The joyful illusion sprang into action, pouncing after the Dementor to shield the two wizards scrambling to their feet.

He didn't know who was tugging and dragging the other more, but they lunged for the examine room door while the otter pinned the Dementor down on the table. With a flick of her wand, Hermione slammed the door shut behind them. Neither of them slowed down until they were well down the hall and away from the effects of the Dementor's presence.

Hermione turned towards him, her eyes wide and her chest heaving with for air. Her hands grasped at his shoulders, to keep herself steady and herself grounded. Tom had one hand clutched at her jacket, but he wasn't even looking at her.

His eyes were large with unrestricted shock and bafflement. He stared down at the hand he raised as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

"Did you just –"

"I think so."

Their voices rushed out at the same time.

He was too numb to even stop her when she threw her arms around him, clutching tightly and burying her face in his neck.

"I… I, I," He actually stammered and she had never heard him sound so lost and confused before. He continued to stare over her at the hand that was shaking violently. "I've never, I can't. Never. Ever, can't be."

"You _did_ ," She murmured against his throat.

It was impossible, he thought, someone like him should be covered in maggots for even trying.

* * *

 _Harry,_

 _It was him that saved me from the Dementor. Tom saved me._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A bit of a darker chapter, but one I liked quite a bit. I decided to experiment with the time gap this time by mixing in letters to Harry with the different scenes that progressed along the same theme. I hope you guys enjoyed! It looks like reviews are working again so I look forward to hearing from you! Special thanks to JuliSt, Penelope Grace and garnet86! Your support means wonders to me! Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	28. Chapter 28

She sat on the edge of the bed, blanketed in the darkness of the late hour. She supposed the midnight hour had already come to past a while ago, but it barely registered in her mind. Her fingers clutched to the smooth red silk, clutching the bundle of fabric as she stared out the window. Aimlessly, she watched the snowflakes fall across the glass panel, some of them were already beginning to build along the wood frame.

She felt the chill of the air against her skin, drawing goosebumps along her arms, with only the gown shielding her torso. Wistfully, Hermione counted the snowflakes, letting her mind wander to impossibilities. She supposed if there was ever a night to imagine what a wonderful world it would be if just a few things were a little different, this would be the night.

With a longing sigh, she glanced down to the man in the bed beside her. The covers were bunched up around his torso, leaving the pale sculpted planes of his chest exposed. His normally immaculate locks were tossed from being pulled this way and that. What caught her was his relaxed expression, no scowl or smirk, as he slept. One arm stretched across the bed, reaching for where she should have been.

She stifled the urge to reach out and touch him again. Instead, she whispered, "Merry Christmas Tom."

* * *

"I can't believe you're dragging me to this," Hermione hissed at him as they stood in the kaleidoscope elevator. With it being just them at the moment, she didn't care how immature it looked with her arms folded over her chest, snapping at him. "You know I hate crowds and gaudy parties."

Tom stood beside in her black formal robes. Meanwhile, she had on a floor length red gown. The a-line hugged her torso with a sweetheart neckline before flaring out at the hips. It hugged her curves in the right places without screaming indecency. Her tastes were modest and refined, the only statement being in the color of choice per the holiday and her house pride. Her hair was pulled into an updo with several curls escaping. Smokey eyes watched him, wanting nothing more than to claw the smirk off his face.

"Versus what alternative?" He tossed back at her unsympathetically. "Hire an escort to accompany me? Or come alone and let the ladies in Wand Permits fawn over me and my broken heart after you left me right before Christmas?" He tried to suppress the shudder that thought brought.

Instead, he enjoyed the way she glared at him. "It would cause quite a scandal," He went on in mock consideration. "It would give them something to gossip over for weeks. Now that I think about it, it would almost be inconsiderate of me not to –"

"Stop it!" Hermione cut him off, shaking her head. He already brought her out this far, she might as well suffer and get it over with. "You're despicable," She muttered.

Tom just grinned at her and moved to wrap an arm loosely around her waist. As they exited the elevator, Hermione grumbled under her breath, "Escorts! Honestly… If that's the education you're getting, I should've just paid for UMASS…"

* * *

As much as she complained, gaudy wasn't the right term for the MACUSA Christmas Eve gala. It was held in one of the ballrooms on the lower floors. It held an enchanted ceiling that made Hogwarts seem dull. Rather than display the stars, waves of sparkling lights flittered through the celebration like the Aurora Borealis. Decorated trees were mixed in amongst the tables and music carried from instruments that hovered without players.

She remained by his side during the cocktail hour before the dinner. She wouldn't admit to it later, but it was comforting to have his arm to clutch onto as she got adjusted. It took her a bit to get used to the fact for once all the attention was not directed at the Golden Trio. The flashes of cameras weren't going off in her face, blinding her. The chatter was incessantly and she fought against the urge to stiff when someone brushed up against her, but it was much more tolerable than the galas she remembered.

"Dreadful shame about Anders," Piero Esposito's voice cut into Hermione's thoughts. She brought her eyes back to the Italian wizard, whose parents immigrated to New York, next to Tom. He was also his department supervisor. "But I know you'll make a splendid Recovery Agent."

Hermione schooled expression into a polite smile while she sharply watched Tom's reactions. The man in question gave a nod and simply wished Anders a speedy recovery before Esposito and his wife moved on to network with others.

"What happened to Anders?" Hermione turned on Tom as soon as they were out of earshot.

He gave a casual shrug, "An unfortunate run in with Sphynx smugglers in Nevada."

She raised her eyebrows suspiciously at him. "Did you have anything to do with it?" She kept her voice low between them.

At the accusation, Tom clenched his jaw momentarily. "Would you believe me if I said I didn't?" His eyes bore into her, his true emotions clouded.

"Probably not," She shot back hotly, perhaps a little too honestly.

He took one deep inhale before sneering coldly, "Then I won't bother refuting it."

* * *

His touch was everywhere. The small of her back, her wrist, her forearm, the back of her neck. Sometimes it was light, merely a brush. Other times, his fingers dug into her possessively, to keep her from walking away or others from walking near. It burned her every time and she noticed.

* * *

"How did you two meet?" One of the Agent's wives asked as they sat for the meal with the other members of Tom's department. Hermione thought her name was Christine, but she honestly was having trouble keeping track of all the individuals she was introduced to at this point. Esposito and his wife were also seated with them. Being the only unmarried couple at the table, it garnered quite a bit of attention from the woman.

Hermione turned towards Tom challengingly. Go ahead, smooth talk this one, she thought. He had been doing a remarkable job the whole evening, why stop now.

Tom cleared his throat after taking a sip of his wine and threw a smirk at Hermione. He didn't need Legilimency to read her thoughts.

"At a pet store, actually," He answered without taking his eyes off of Hermione. He used the arm slung on the back of her chair to trace light circles on her shoulders as he spoke. "She saw me first. Wouldn't leave me alone after that, frankly."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh-ho!" Her voice rose incredulously. "Is _that_ how you remember it?"

She earned a few chuckles around the table.

Tom grinned broadly and went on, "To be fair, I was quite powerless to her ways." Hermione bit her lip, shaking her head in bemusement at the way he twisted it. He dropped his expression just seriously enough to add, "And I've been her captive ever since."

"Uh huh," Hermione joined in, not letting him get away unscathed. "You remember the first thing you said to me?" She tapped a finger against her chin in mock thought, "Oh that's right, you wanted me to eat poison and drop dead."

That garnered a few befuddled looks from the other side of the table. It left Tom shrugging his shoulders innocently, "Well I never claimed to sweep her off her feet."

Once the tension was diffused and the conversation carried on, Tom leant down to whisper in Hermione's ear. Naturally at the action, she turned her head towards him slightly. "Such a sharp tongue," His voice was husky and she had to keep herself from jumping when his teeth caught her earlobe. "Would it still be so sharp if I bent you over this table and took you?"

She froze and her eyes widened. She didn't answer him, even after he leant away and steered the conversation away from a marriage on the horizon. She numbly listened to his soothing words that they weren't in a hurry for anything. He even complimented her research, calling a study of the origin of magical essences, and considered it being priority. Under different circumstances, she would've lavished under glowing support.

Yet, the whole time she watched the words fall from his lips, her cheeks were bright rose. She thought about how different her body reacted to such a suggestion from Tom, even when she had heard similar ones from Riddle. Those lips she had felt pressed against hers, but she wondered about other parts of her body.

* * *

They danced. He had promised they could slip out after the meal when everyone began dancing. Now, as she swayed in his arms, she wasn't as much of a hurry to get out of there. She focused on the warmth of his hands on her. She could smell his cologne, the familiar scent that brought her comfort but also made her want to lean in and inhale more. He was really handsome, that was one fact she never tried to dispute. The glitter of the gala decorations reflecting in his eyes seemed to spark them with more warmth than he normally carried. Or perhaps, he actually felt that way as he grinned down at her.

Their waltz slowed down and he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her chest brushed against his. She closed her eyes naturally at the feel of his cheek against hers. Most of the dance, they had said nothing to each other. She listened to the music and just swayed with him.

"Tell me anything, Hermione," He whispered into her ear, in that tone he knew stripped her down to her core.

"Tell me you want me and you'll have me," He promised, his hands holding onto her tightly, as if she would slip through his fingers in a moment.

His words and breath falling against her neck drew a shiver. It was just a game, she told herself mentally over and over. "What if I only want you for one night?" She asked of him.

He leaned back to look her in the eyes. She wished she could understand what he masked behind those stormy clouds. "You'll have it," He gave, but with another promise. "But come morning, I'll convince you to have me for another."

Suddenly she wasn't so sure they were alluding to the same thing.

* * *

It was just to fill a physical ache, she told herself, when her fireplace lit up green and the couple came tumbling forth. An ache that he stirred on with the way he kissed her neck and pulled the pins from her hair before running fingers through her curls. An ache to pull off his tie and loosen his collar to touch more of his skin. She gasped when he pulled the zipper down in the back of her dress and she felt cool hands that scorched her spine. With a smirk, their eyes met briefly before they disappeared in a cloud of smoke from the living room.

They reappeared upstairs in his bedroom. She pushed him down by the shoulders onto the edge of the bed. Hungry eyes and swollen lips watched her step out of the gown before climbing onto him, straddling his hips.

It was just an ache, she reminded herself, every time an article of clothing disappeared between them. An ache that was pleased by the feel of his lean muscles against her skin, firm hands drawing shivers and gasps with gentle caresses. It was just an ache that had nothing to do with the way he murmured "Beautiful" into her ear or "Mine" against her lips. Nothing to do with the way he made her look him in the eyes the moment he slide into her nor how she moaned his name like a soft prayer.

In the morning, he could try to have her again and she would remember why he shouldn't.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Gotta lot of a little bit of Tomione fluff! At least before we head into the last stretch of the story. I don't see this going more than 40 chapters, but I could be sweet talked into doing multiple epilogue chapters. By the way, I'm crap at writing sex scenes, so if you were expecting the M rating for that, I'm sorry but use your imagination. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	29. Chapter 29

Her breaths came out in puffs of steaming clouds. Her cheeks were tinged red with the bite of the winter air. There were no birds chirping. The air was still saved for the cracking of branches, the crunch of snow and spells whizzing through the air.

With her back pressed against a tree trunk, she reminded herself to keep it nonverbal. She leant to her right, wand in hand. With a flick and steadied concentration, she sent a stunner and a stinging hex. She ducked away from the _Reducto_ that greeted her. It caused the branches of the tree in front of her to explode in a barrage of splinters.

Hermione darted to her left, tossing two more hexes to cover herself. She heard them ricochet off a _Protego_ before more branches cracked above her.

She was stopped in her strides by a hissing lunge at her. It narrowly missed her cheek and she stumbled against a trunk. Hurriedly, she threw a _Confringo_ at the large black python curled above her. The illusion disappeared into ashes.

She heard laughter off her shoulder. Immediately, she turned on her heal and threw a succession of curses, gleaming red and yellow through the air.

Two came back at her, a legging lock one catching her in the ankle as she darted out of the way. She fell to the ground with a grunt and quickly cast the counter charm at her feet.

She barely got to her feet before throwing herself back down on the ground to avoid the violet spell whizzing by her head. It hit the tree trunk behind her with a smattering of a blackish tar, it hissed angrily as it ate away on the bark on the tree. The dark magic radiated off of it.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself off to a darting sprint through the trees. It started with harmless hexes, a hair scalping here and hurling hex there. Now there was nothing _fun_ about the spells shattering the tree trunks around her. Nor was there anything _harmless_ about the spells she threw at the billow of black robes and dark hair she spotted through the trees.

Guessing his path, she sent a slicing hex to a few trees in front. The timber gave an audible shudder as it came down. A fireball erupted from his hands and casted the tree aside.

It was a split second distraction that gave her enough to fire three spells off in rapid succession at him. The _Expulso_ and _Petrificus Totalus_ came off so naturally, knowing the first would be blocked and hoped for the best with the second. She didn't think of just how naturally the third came from her mind until the red light left her wand.

A chilling cry ripped through the air and a body dropped to the ground. His screams continued to rip through the air, even as her heart thudded with adrenaline and her chest heaved.

She advanced with her wand towards him. His arms slung and feet kicked out in the snow, sending the white flakes fluttering in the air.

Her mind moved more sluggishly, as if her energy was drawn to keeping her heart pounding and oxygen driving through her body.

She had to force herself to blink to realize that the dark mass of hair and pale complexion didn't belong to a Snatcher. He rolled over onto his back. His chin and features were too clean shaven to be Dolohov. He was nearly unrecognizable with the way his eyes were clenched shut and his face contorted in pain.

Nearly.

Hermione yanked her wrist away with horrified realization. The spell broke and his cries died down.

"Tom!" Her voice called out hoarsely.

She took a few steps closer, but stopped, unsure of whose eyes would open. _What have I done?_ The appalled thought ran sickeningly on repeat in her mind. She could see his chest heaving up and down forcefully. One hand clutched at his heart while the rest of his limps continued to twitch in the aftermath.

She kept her wand out, waiting, unsure what to make of his reaction.

He didn't open his eyes but a strangle noise from his lips. It shuddered his shoulders. She cocked her head in confusion. Was he crying? No, it took a few rumbles for her to understand those sobs were early peals of laughter.

And did he laugh.

It started low before it built up as he regained his senses. It filled the forest air and echoed through the branches. Tears did stream from the corners of his eyes and she doubted they were from the curse. Teeth as white as the snow flashed while he clutched his stomach.

"Er, Tom?"

He lifted a hand and waved it casually. Instinctively, Hermione took a step back and raised her wand, half expecting a spell. His eyes were closed and didn't see her reaction. "I'm fine, Hermione," He managed to sputter out between gasps.

"Not from where I'm standing," She disagreed quickly, frowning at the way the wizard had yet to make any move to get up. Hearing her name gave enough ease to lower her wand. That was enough dueling practice for one day, in her opinion.

Whether what she said was funny or something else entirely, she didn't know, it did send Tom into another bout of laughter.

"I just…" He gasped on the words, trying to get a deep enough breathe to finish a sentence. "I just, need to let… You-Know-Who spew, for a bit." The hand dropped back against his chest.

Hermione just shook her head incredulously at him. She never knew what to expect from him and this moment she found herself doubting why she even bothered to guess.

"You're a bit barmy, you know that?"

His eyes cracked open to peer up at her then, undeterred. "Quite frankly, my little witch, I don't give a damn," He replied proudly.

Hermione snorted and despite herself, grinned back at him. It was rather infectious when someone smiled so broadly, even if it was a fit of momentary insanity, she decided.

Opting to give her burning calves and thighs a rest, she stepped next to him and dropped to a seat beside his shoulder. She leant back against the tree trunk, ignoring the uncomfortable uneven surface of the roots and snow seeping into her pants.

Eventually, he broke the silence by remarking, "By the gods of any _that_ was a full Cruciatus."

While there was a dark glee to his words, it just made her stomach twist. Hermione glared morosely at her wand, rolling it between her fingers.

"I can't recall the last time it was turned on me," Tom continued to speak, his eyes staring aimlessly at the grey sky above. "Albania? Perhaps. The _nerve_!"

It occurred to her then that he wasn't necessarily speaking to her, but mocking the other resident fragment.

She frowned and said nothing.

She didn't look up while Tom shifted, recovering enough to force himself to sit up as well. His hands shook violently and she noticed his knees gave an occasional twitch. He leant his back against the tree, his shoulder brushing against her.

In almost complete companionable silence, they sat. The calming of their breaths occasionally interrupted by his chuckles.

"I'm rather fond of the way this Mudblood tastes," Tom commented aloud.

Her eyes snapped up to see if he was trying to get a rise out of her or the other one. He wasn't looking at her. Part of her wanted to know what You-Know-Who was saying, but knew she really didn't.

"I may even let her defile this body again tonight," He smirked to himself.

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling the heat on her cheeks again. In her defense, she didn't let him have her the next day after Christmas. She held out for another three weeks before having a moment of weakness again. Moments of weakness, she called them.

"Don't goad him, Tom," She spoke over his laughter, apparently gotten the reaction he wanted. "You're not the one that has to deal with him when he comes out," She grumbled, kicked her toe into the snow.

She couldn't help but tug at her sleeve, double checking that the bruises from the last episode were gone.

The laughter died down. The silence lingered long enough after that she didn't expect to get a response.

"He's getting weaker, Hermione," His voice was calmer, promising. She looked up to see him watching her, his face only a short distance from hers.

She nodded, knowing what he meant, but not having the energy to point out his over confidence. He had explained to her, although abstractly, the way he was leeching the magic from the other fragment, drawing him weaker as he did to Riddle. The process was taking longer than the first fragment and she knew he was still dangerous. She still didn't allow herself to fall asleep anywhere but in her room.

"Quite a pair, we make," She murmured solemnly, glancing back to her wand once more in her lap. "A madman is trying to possess you at any given hour," She commented, trying to keep it dry, but ending up a vicious spat. "And here I am, one curse away from perfecting the Unforgivable trifecta."

Tom shook his head minutely, his lips pressing into a thoughtful line. "Magic is about intent. Take it from me, and let's say my expertise on the matter," He spoke gently, but with full confidence of each word. "You quite simply don't have the ill-heart to murder in cold-blood, Hermione."

Hermione's chin picked up as she regarded him. He wasn't the type to spare words or give idle meaning. The corners of her lips picked up. She wasn't sure if he even had an idea, but she decided then and there that was the kindest thing he had ever said to her. Letting those words roll over and over in her mind, she leant her head against his shoulder.

She felt many things in those remote woods of New Hampshire that day. Disgust, self-loathing, among them, but none were loneliness.

* * *

It tended to take him a few days to recover from their dueling practice. Although she wasn't sure if it was really considered dueling when only one of them used a wand. On the nights he wasn't recovering, sometimes she caught a white glow coming from under his bedroom door. A few times, she caught herself frowning at it. None of her wards alerting her to dark magic ever went off.

* * *

"Have you practiced your Patronus?" She asked him one day, when the snow was beginning to melt and spring was coming from another practice area in the woods of western Massachusetts.

He gave her the same withering glare he always gave her when she brought it up.

"They're useful for more than just chasing Dementors," She muttered matter-of-factly under her breath, but dropped it nonetheless. Tom was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. His eyes narrowed on her briefly, but said nothing.

"Do you think you could get more Basilisk hide?" She changed the subject, it was beginning to show quite a bit of promise.

"Unlikely," Tom answered thoughtfully. "I was fortunate to confiscate any. Will you be able to make do?" After all it wasn't every day that his department raided an illegal breeding operation in Louisiana. One advantage of gaining an understanding of MACUSA was knowing what sort of paperwork to file to make things disappear.

Hermione nodded reluctantly, thinking she could alter it into gloves.

"Good," Tom clipped out curtly. "Now stop stalling." He nodded towards the trees several yards away from them, most of the bark already stripped from them. "Severus' spell, again."

Hermione sighed. Idly, she thought it still strange to hear Death Eaters or former professors referred to by their first name, but she pushed away to concentration on the incantation.

"Fine, but only if you teach me the counter-curse," She countered, glancing over her shoulder at him.

Tom made a face.

" _Tom_!"

"Yes, yes, fine. Carry on with it already," He huffed impatiently.

She raised her wand and concentrated a moment before the spell rippled from the tip. It lashed out and struck the trees haphazardly, mere lashes in the grain. She gave a scowl. Learning a new curse wasn't an impossible task, but a dark, nonverbal one was a challenge even for her. Flicking through the motions again, the second attempt wasn't much stronger.

"Here," Tom's voice interrupted behind her. She felt him stepping up, his robes pooling around hers as his hand reached out to clasp over her wand hand. His other hand went to her hip, gripping it with casual familiarity, as it had several nights before.

"Broad strokes for multiple targets," His whisper fell against her ear while his hand showed her the specific motions. "Tighten it up when aiming for one."

"Now cast," He ordered, his breath falling against her exposed neck. For a moment, she cursed herself for braiding the unruly locks back.

She barely nodded, her mouth gone dry. With his hand still over hers, she mimicked his motions. The _Sectumsempra_ struck four trees with a resounding shrill, scattering wood splinters among the forest floor.

"Again," He whispered, dropping his lips to her neck. The other hand moved to splay across her stomach, holding her firmly to him.

With a shaky inhale, she focused on mimicking his second motions. The spell struck the middle truck hard enough to splinter through half of it. There was a short second before the mighty wood gave way with a groan.

"Very good," She felt his whisper more than heard it while the branches ripped through the canopy and it fell. Shivers from the sensations against her flesh rose. He was simply insatiable when she used dark magic around him and she felt it pressed against her rear.

"Tom," She tried to force herself to remember the other thing she meant to ask him and not the hand sliding off hers to her waist. "Do you think you could get time off of work during summer break?"

He pulled away from her neck and she shivered from the lack of warmth there. "How much time?" He allowed her to turn around in his encirclement to face him.

"Two weeks, maybe?" She suggested. "I really think I might be onto something with the Basilisk hide."

She hesitated when he leant back into her neck, pressing her back up against a tree.

"I would like to start some trials, but getting test subjects here would be too risky and could raise suspicion," She continued, sliding her wand up to her holster so she could use both hands to brace against his shoulders.

He was trailing hot, lavish kisses along her flesh, between nips of his teeth. "We would need to go somewhere," She lolled her head to the side at the attention. "Less _regulated_. Mexico city, the Yucatan perhaps."

She felt a tug at her waist and the rip of a zipper, but she gasped loudly from his sucking at the sensitive pulse point below her ear.

"Go on," He hummed against her, a hand slipping under the hem of her shirt to curl his fingers against her flesh.

"Maybe, you could talk to Gareth," She suggested, closing her eyes and not caring how breathy she sounded. "He could get us an international portkey off the books, a favor for a last minute vacation." Complete sentences became harder when she realized the tugging at her waist was his hand slipping inside her jeans.

"You might be able to use," She reached a hand into his hair, knotting tightly before the first treacherous moan fell from her lips. "His prejudice against the Ministry," She gasped, bucking her hips against his hand. "To avoid border, customs… visa documentation."

"Hermione," Tom drew back from her neck to look her in the eyes. His fingers didn't stop drawing circles between her folds. Her nails dug into back of his neck.

"Yes?" She writhed under his attention.

"Stop talking," He smirked at her.

She didn't need to be told twice and pulled him towards her, to seal his lips with hers.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm not sure if this is quite considered fluff since it's a bit dark, but hey that's Tomione for ya. I decided to pause the plot to play with a few scenes of what I imagined them getting carried away in different ways while practicing magic would be like. And it's fun to explore how they influence each other differently. Any feedback is appreciated, please leave a review or follow. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	30. Chapter 30

She often felt as if she and Tom were living two different lives. One dominated by the study of Death and Dementors. The second by day attending MACUSA events as the image of up and coming young couple in the American wizarding society. It was sitting on the back deck of the Graves' summer estate in the Hamptons over the American independence weekend that Hermione had trouble reminding herself it was only a few weeks ago six people died in Mexico City.

She considered the estate to be something that could only be passed down many generations through a Pureblood family such as the Graves. Massive luxury and elegance, but the residents were more welcoming. As Gareth and Tom spent more time together, she formed a friendship with his wife, Joanna.

"You would mind holding Samuel?" The young raven-haired witch asked of Hermione, offering up three month old. The mother's eagle eye spotted her eldest son covered in dirt that would need to be cleaned up before dinner.

"Of course not," Hermione replied, taking the babe into her arms and ignoring the pang of doubt to whether or not she would ever have her own. Joanna went chasing after her eldest while Hermione gently rocked the babe. He was quiet, almost as much as the eldest living Grave.

Hermione chanced a glance from her seat to where he sat in his wheel chair a few yards away. The age showed clearly in the wrinkles of his skin and dust of his hair. It was hard to believe that was the same man prone to fits that Gareth spoke about. Percival Graves was always semi-comatose every time she saw him. Just as he was now, absently staring at the ocean horizon oblivious to the family around him. She never heard him say a word.

"Uh-oh, I know that look," Joanna announced, sitting back down next to Hermione. She followed her gaze, not to Percival, but the two wizards standing by the grill on the other end of the deck.

Seeing them dressed down outside the office brought a grin to her lips. Hermione's eyes passed over Tom's jeans and polo appreciative while he took a sip of his beer. Gareth was at the grill, a hand waving his beer lightly as he told a story. Muggle or not, some hobbies appealed to all men.

"You mean the plotting and scheming one?" Hermione replied back, giving the baby on her shoulder another gentle pat. She knew of their pastime to dissect the MACUSA political structure as many wizards did Quidditch.

Joanna chuckled and reached for her lemonade on the end table between them. "I swear, if there were ever two men cut from the same cloth," She shook her head.

"Oh, I hope for all our sakes that's not true," Hermione answered darkly but hid it behind a smile.

* * *

"Think Quahog has it in him for a third term?" Gareth mused aloud as his fingers fiddled with the settings on the grill.

"Certainly, his approval ratings are mediocre enough," Tom replied smoothly while he leant back against the deck railing. "No scandals, and no remarkable reforms. One more term, certainly, but the people will tire of him."

"Hm," Gareth hummed in agreement. "That's what I've been thinking, not this election cycle, but perhaps the next…"

That gave Tom pause, the otherwise lax afternoon suddenly became interesting. "You're thinking of running?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Why not?" Gareth responded lightheartedly, although he never made any decision carelessly. "I come from a fine American Pureblood family and security positions have been the stepping stone before for many." He had the subtle gleam in his eye, of a man to grasp power. It was a look that Tom knew full well.

Tom half shrugged, he wasn't wrong. "You'll have trouble appealing to the masses on that platform," He commented.

"Well, that's where an advisor would come into play," Gareth retorted.

Tom wasn't convinced he was being entirely seriously so he said, "Win and you'll have an entire cabinet full of them."

"I'm more concerned with the most important advisor of them all," Gareth gave a meaningful look to him.

Only then did Tom really focus on his expression and the suggestion beneath the words. "You mean," Tom started and Gareth nodded before he could finish the sentence.

Tom let out a deep sigh, letting the thought wash over him and the two heavy words; Vice President.

"Citizenship could be an issue," Tom pointed out, neither accepting, but certainly not denying the proposition. "Don't you have to be natural born at the least?"

Gareth brush off his words lightly, "No, MACUSA laws are different than those Nomaj ones you've been studying." He promised, "I'll handle your citizenship."

Tom took the promise in stride, hiding the truth depth of his excitement behind indifference. A promise of citizenship gave him more securities than the Assistant Director knew, even if the campaign failed.

"If I were to advise a platform," Tom suggested as he formed the thoughts. "It would be protection and continuation of the magical community."

Gareth cocked his head at that. "Go on," He urged, intrigued.

"We're a minority, Gareth," Tom waved his hand lightly around them. "Witches and wizards, our kind. There's over hundreds of them for everyone one of us and the Purebloods of old are declining. Do you know what the Nomaj would call our species if they knew of us?"

"I can't say I do," Gareth answered him.

"Endangered," Tom emphasized. "Expected to go extinct if we do not change."

Gareth's expression curled uncomfortably at the thought, naturally. "It's a valid point, Tom, but I'm not sure you can build a campaign upon that," He conceded dubiously.

"Of course you can, spin the rhetoric to your audience," Tom disagreed. "For example, earlier education for magical children, include them in the community at a younger age than eleven. Voters love a system that creates jobs for teachers. Screen the parents of the Muggle-born," Tom had to stop and correct old habits, "Nomaj-bred, rather. Let the offspring of the unfit be relocated to a magical family to protect them. Call it magical inclusion for the liberals, or separation from violent Nomaj for the conservatives. The point is not to get too extreme to alienate the other, but appeal to the moderate majority as that's where the votes are."

Gareth grinned broadly. "Well you have me sold," He agreed. "We will have to work on your image until then."

"My image?" Tom repeatedly with a mildly offended tone.

"Certainly, I know who you are, but most of the magical community doesn't. We'll need to convince the public you're a good man with solid principles and values," Gareth nodded. "You have a few years to build it. I would start with her." He pointed his beer bottle towards the two witches.

"Hermione?" Tom's brow furrowed, his eyes drawn by the gesture. He lingered on the witch in the white sundress, holding the baby against her shoulder.

"Look at the both of you," Gareth began to recite the background story they had told time and again in his own words. "War orphans, come to America with nothing in your pockets, rising through hard work to one of the top political and research institutes in the world. That's the sort of American dream that voters eat up."

Tom gave him a begrudging look, but didn't argue against him.

"Make an honest witch of her before the election," Gareth suggested, borderline ordered. "Better yet, have one of your own or at least get her showing by then too."

The look of panic was subtle and fleeting, but Gareth knew Tom well enough to spot it. There was a slight widening of his eyes and paling of his features while they darted back to Hermione. More importantly, there was a deep gulp that he tried to hide behind his bottle that had nothing to do with beer.

"Come now, Thomas," Gareth jibbed him. "Don't tell me you've been living with a witch like _that_ for over a year now and she hasn't brought it up?"

Tom torn his gaze away from Hermione. She felt his gaze and titled her head slightly at the pair unable to hear what was said at the distance. Instead, Tom turned a full on scowl to Gareth.

Rather than comment on his taunting, he nodded towards the grill and sneered, "You're burning the chicken."

* * *

After dinner on the deck, the Graves insisted that Tom and Hermione went for a walk down by the beach while they put the children to bed. The sky glowed with the evening hours, dashing hues of reds and golds. Hermione felt the temperature begin to drop with the day and wrapped the cardigan over her dress tightly around herself.

"You were quiet during dinner," Tom observed once they were a fair distant from the manor. While they were a couple walking towards the beach in the same stride, they didn't hold hands or linger particularly close to each other.

"Was I?" Hermione murmured noncommittally as she stared at sand seeping between her toes. She didn't elaborate further.

Tom frowned at her lack of answer. "You're not still on about Mexico City, are you?" He wondered incredulously.

Hermione's head whipped up quickly and gaped at him. "Am I _still_ on about Mexico City?" She gasped. "Six people _died_ , Tom. I'm not like you, I can't just brush that off."

"I held their souls in my hands," She went on, gesturing with her hands cradled in front of her. For a glorious moment, it was a glimmering orb of white light like a star. She lost her concentration and then it disappeared as quickly as water through her fingers. "And then they were just _gone_. I don't care what excuse you give me about them being ill, or volunteering or anything, they're just gone. _Dead_. And I'm not okay with that. I don't think I ever _want_ to be okay with that."

She picked up her pace and marched away from him after her outburst.

"Hermione, wait!" Tom called after her once he recovered. It only took a few quick strides to catch up to her due to his stature.

"Hermione," He grasped at her upper arm to slow her down. "I didn't mean it like that."

"What did you mean like?" She whirled on him quickly, wondering what other way she possibly could've taken his words.

"I…" Tom struggled on the word as he stopped abruptly. "I don't know," He confessed with a slight shake of his head.

"You don't know?" Hermione folded her arms over her chest, repeating with doubt.

Tom nodded.

"Don't know what?" She pressed.

"This? The possibilities. Living," Tom relented with an exasperated sigh. "All of those," He gestured around them to everything and nothing at all. "I never expect to get this far… and now I am."

Hermione bit her lip as she thought about his reaction. Her expression softened. She still reminded herself regularly of his origins and penchant for manipulation. But it was hard to imagine the young man who was so clearly lost in front of her was anything but.

"Neither did I," She gave gently, deciding to give him some slack this time. She dropped her defensive body language and moved to loop her arm through his so they could keep walking. Letting the one action speak more than the words.

He didn't thank her outright, but she felt it in the loosening of his shoulders once they started walking again.

"What about you?" She asked after a minute of silence. "You seemed tense when you were talking to Gareth earlier," She observed.

Tom gave a half shrug, keep his free hand firmly stuff in his pocket. "You know how Gareth enjoys making people uncomfortable," He replied vaguely.

"That's true," She agreed, "But usually you don't let him get under your skin."

Tom gave a scowl without looking at her, but didn't reply to her point.

They were close enough to the water's edge now that the wet sand felt cool on the bottom of her feet. "Unless, it's something else?" She pressed, noticing it was hard to keep his attention.

Tom stopped to glance back towards the manor briefly. They were alone on the beach in the late day hour.

He nodded numbly, "I had another vision of the other horcruxes."

Any joviality of the evening disappeared with those words, worried etched deep into Hermione's brow. She waited for him to continue.

"They're gathering, trying to mimic what I did to Riddle to get stronger," He went on.

"Can they do that?" Hermione startled.

Tom shook his head firmly. "I don't think so," He replied, "At least not how I did."

Hermione tilted her head and wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but also knew he was always one wrong question away from shutting down when he opened up like this.

"But they're somewhere dark," He went on without noticing her mental war, "And damp, stone walls, mostly likely underground…"

Hermione grew concerned with the direction of his thinking. It seemed to eerily similar to conversations she had with another dark haired boy trying to figure out obscure visions.

"We have to be careful this isn't a trap," Hermione cautioned. "That they just aren't showing you what you want to see, knowing you can see them…"

"Indeed," Tom only vaguely muttered. "Mr. Potter saw precisely what the Original wanted him to see. I'm well aware of that trick."

Hermione nodded. "We can't go into this blind, we have to be prepared," She refrained from saying this time, since it was a different type of darkness and a different man she was facing it with.

"We?" Tom minced her words, raising a cool eyebrow as he turned to look at her, pulling himself from the memory to see her clearly.

"Us, of course," She clarified stubbornly. "We haven't come this far for me to step aside now and let you finish this alone."

If Tom was shocked at the declaration, he hid it well with a quirk of a smirk. Although, the smirk slowly faded while his hands absently went to her hips. She didn't mind the intrusion to her personal space as she kept her eyes firmly locked on his. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her and if he found what he was looking for.

"Is there anywhere you wouldn't follow me, little witch?" His voice was low, she had to strain to hear it over the waves. The words carried in a way that brought heat to her cheeks.

"I could think of a few," She quipped, "but more I would."

This time when Tom lent towards her, she knew he wasn't trying to uphold an image nor was it driven by a fit of lust or loneliness. It was a different feeling that fluttered up in her chest when his lips caressed hers. A feeling that she wanted to chase and shy away from at the same time. She knew she had to be careful where she followed him, but she had decided she would follow him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone! I know it's been a long time, life has been crazy busy. Leave a review and let me know if you're still reading and/or interested in seeing more of this story. I tried writing the Mexico City adventure a few times, but didn't like the flow so I decided to trash it and address what happened there in dialogue and flashbacks going forward. For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	31. Chapter 31

The presence of Gareth in Hermione's home was one she quickly got used to through Tom. It was not unusual for him to come over for dinner as them over to the Graves estate. Although, the men's idea of dinner typically consisted of a few beers on the porch while devising methods of disassembling their next political obstacle.

Hermione generally stayed out of their way on those nights. Her mind was preoccupied with her own research studies. While Mexico City had led to breakthroughs on the soul extraction, the soul containment was another hurdle itself. It was one thing to pull a soul or fragment from a mortal body, but guiding and forcing it in another object, preferably inanimate, called for another type of magic.

She was sitting in the study one evening when she bore witness to a disagreement between Tom and Gareth. Of course, it was naïve to think they never had a difference of opinion. However, having never born witness to it before, it was distinctly memorable to Hermione.

She had a text on dragon heartstring that she was pouring over while the men sat in the living room. She could catch a glimpse of them through the doorway of the study and down the hall if she leaned the right way at her desk. They had papers of a different sort spread across the coffee table.

Tom pulled a long sip from his beer while Gareth frowned in contemplation at the proposal before him.

"It's a well-structured reform," Gareth grunted noncommittally before dropping the papers and leaning back in his seat.

In contrast to the tension in Gareth's shoulders, Tom sat at ease with long fingers wrapped around the cool glass of the bottle and the other resting on the armchair. He cocked his head slightly, "And yet you are disappointed," He surmised.

Gareth gave a half shrug at first. The silence lingered on between them for moments long enough to allow Hermione to flip a few more pages in her text.

"It's lacking in some aspects," Gareth worded carefully at first.

A stoic raised eyebrow from Tom urged him to go on.

"There's nothing stating which wizards and witches will need to conform to these…" Gareth tried not to sneer the words as he gestured towards the papers, "Background checks and parenting courses."

"Parenting courses that will be used to reinforce the importance of protecting the magical youth and community," Tom reminded meaningfully.

Nonetheless, Gareth seemed no less agitated. His fingers shifted around the neck of his bottle whereas Tom's remained still.

Tom decided to quit beating around the subject. "If its blood status you're looking for, you won't find it," He declared firmly.

Hermione looked up from her desk and leaned further in her seat to get a better look.

"And why not?" Gareth challenged. "Every wizard knows a Pureblood family does not need reminder of magical values. There's no need to wasting governmental resources on such unnecessary efforts."

"On the contrary, some would argue they need more than ever now," Tom goaded with a hint of a smirk in his eyes. "Especially given the recent studies in Europe on the correlation between Pureblood wizards and those convicted of war crimes."

"How would you convince the public to exclude the Purebloods?" Tom went on rhetorically, "In the name of the greater good?"

Gareth made no attempt to hide the scowl at that point. His eyes went dark, almost as dark as the soul of the man in front of him.

The quill in Hermione's fingers slowly sipped to the desk as she listened at the edge of her seat.

"The people are not stupid," Tom break the silence with cold authority. "If you try to slip any sort of blood status requirement into this reform, you'll alienate the very group of voters you're wishing to appeal to."

Gareth gave a humorless snort. "You speak as if the people at their core have changed or can be swayed," He waved a hand in the air casually as he spoke. "You give them too much credit, as if they aren't the same wizards bred from centuries of traditions and ideals."

"Such foolish stubbornness will get you nowhere in today's society," Tom chided, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

"No, this attitude of yours is foolish," Gareth disagree and leaned forward in his seat, putting his elbows against his knees. "At the end of the day, people don't change, old friend," He pointed a finger in emphasis.

Tom's eyes narrowed, the condensation and patience slipping from his features. "Oh, but they do," He retorted in a low voice. "When motivated properly, they evolve, they adapt." Refusing to break eye contact, Tom leant forward to his challenge. "It be best you remember that, _old friend_ ," He mimicked his words. "Or lest find yourself left behind, alone, in a cold, dark place, abandoned to rot as the world carries on."

At first the only noise through the house was the creaking of wood from the outside wind before the floorboards creaked under Tom's boots. Hermione doubted very much they were really talking about educational reform, but didn't dare speak up.

In a further display of confidence, Tom stood and turned his back on Gareth. His hands went to his collar to remove the MACUSA cloak from his shoulders, but it was as clear of a dismissal as any. For a moment in the hallway, his eyes darted in Hermione's direction.

She stirred and tried to make herself appear busy, but felt the flush on her cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught eavesdropping.

* * *

It was a while before she felt like she was even reading the words in front of her again. Long after the point that Gareth left and Tom put away the proposals. He went about somewhere in the kitchen and living room but she wasn't really listening. Her mind was reflecting on their words and all the questions that she wanted to ask Tom. Unlike her school best friends, she couldn't pepper him with quesitons.

"What are you looking for?" His voice startled her in the late night hour.

Hermione sat up straight in alarm, only then feeling how stiff her shoulders then. She struggled on the words at first, forcing herself not to blurt out her forethoughts. "I, I was just looking for something to make them stronger," She gestured to the deep emerald gloves on edge of her desk. The last experiment nearly shredded the right glove all the way through.

"To reinforce the basilisk hide," She clarified while Tom strode into the room. She felt his presence leaning over her shoulder to look at her notes.

"By reinforcing the seams with dragon heartstring?" Tom deducted from her notes. He gave a curt nod, "Clever."

Hermione bit lip her at the compliment but didn't say more.

"What species were you thinking of using?" Tom leaning closer, placing on hand against the desk as he eyed her notes further.

"Hungarian Horntail," She answered him, trying not to fidget with her quill.

"Hm," He hummed, although not as positively as she had hoped. "A natural appeal," He murmured, "But don't confuse aggression for resilience." His hand reached for the open text beside her. After a few flips of paper, he found the index.

Pushing aside her concerns for curiosity, Hermione's eyes followed his fingers down the page until he found the desired entry. "You should consider the Portuguese Long-Snout," He suggested. "They're migratory and one of the most acclimated to extreme environments."

No matter how long Hermione had been around Tom, she still wasn't completely used to be corrected by him, but was getting better at hiding it. Her nose only wrinkled in thought momentarily before lifting her quill. She could practically feel his smirk behind her as she wrote Portuguese Long-Snout below Hungarian Horntail in her notes, not necessarily crossing out her idea just yet.

He lingered longer than she expected, not that she ever knew what to expect from him. But it was long enough for her gather the courage to ask one question in the most casual manner she could muster.

"Tom?" She finally lifted her head to look at him, ignoring the trapped sense with hands leaning against the desk on either side of her. "Why did Gareth call you old friend?" She pointed out, "You really haven't known each other that long."

Tom's eyebrows rose briefly at the peculiarity of the question, but gave an at ease shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps, the same reason the Nomaj in my night course call each other ' _Bro_ '," He suggested easily.

The clumsy way _Bro_ fell off Tom's lips caused Hermione to chuckle before she could help it. The grin was soon mirrored by his own. She felt the heat start to rise in her cheeks again as he stared down at her, long after the laughter died.

"Tom?" She asked, what she was unsure.

"Get some sleep, Hermione," He spoke gently, but firmly. She didn't get as much offense to the order with the hand that came up to stroke her cheek. "A rested mind discovers more than the tired."

Before she could protest, he surprised her by leaning down to silence her with his lips. The kiss was no modest peck and she felt her back sit up straighter as the butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She dropped the quill on the desk to catch a brush of his jawline before he pulled away. Opening her eyes slowly, she caught a dimpled smirk on his features before he stepped away and left her in the study.

He wasn't the type to throw around casual affection, yet she was embarrassed to admit she was starting to wish he was. Hermione stared after the doorway for a long while, trying to will the kiss to not be more than it was. A distraction from her goals, the truth, and she knew how dangerous distractions could be.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone, sorry for the long lapse in updates. Work schedule has been very busy! Earlier I mentioned a 40 chapter limit - that no longer applies. I've decided to develop some aspects of the story further and take it as long as it feels comfortable. Please leave a review and let me know if you're still enjoying the story! For disclaimer purposes, JKR owns the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I just have the privilege of playing in it.


	32. Chapter 32

" _Lumos_!"

The orb of light illuminated the shadows, chasing them away from the walls and furniture, but not nearly enough to cast the entire space. He wasn't sure if he was truly awake and saw the light or if he just stirred abruptly from sleep at the same time. He squinted, blinking rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust, lifting his head.

"Hermione?" He called out to her, recognizing the silhouette of curls and the oversized shirt with shorts that seemed to be hardly decent decades ago.

"Alright there?" She asked, not questioning who she was speaking to.

He lifted himself with his elbows against the mattress, causing the covers to fall. Her eyes darted briefly to his bare chest, but she made no visible reaction. Her head was slight tilted with reserved concern.

Tom just frowned at her. Ignoring her question entirely, he observed, "You're in my room."

An eyebrow quirked in response. "You're not the only one that knows how to break a Locking charm," She haughtily pointed out.

Tom didn't respond to her. Instead, he leaned to one side while the other hand rubbed the bleariness out of his eyes and went up through his hair, ruffling it further than it already was.

Hermione shifted on her feet, second guessing her response. Her expression eased up a little as she stepped towards his bed. Her wand dropped some, but still lit the room. "Apparently, I'm not the only one that has nightmares," She clarified gently.

She spared him the embarrassment of explaining why his throat was a little raw or what it took to inspire her to enter his bedroom.

Had he been Riddle, he would have mocked her until she slinked out of the room. Had he been You-Know Who, she wouldn't have even said this much before being sent running. But he was Tom, instead, he opened his mouth and shut it with an _Oh_ that never verbalized and his gaze fell by the wayside.

Nightmares was simply stating it. He struggled to recall one that ever seemed similar to the last. It was different faces, different twists of pain and horror, but it all ran the same red blood and eventually the shrills and howls of his memories ran together too. He almost asked her if she knew what that was like, but he already knew the answer.

"Good night, Tom," Her voice broke him from his thoughts, taking his silence for an unwanted intrusion on the late night hour. Her shoulders began to turn towards the door.

"Stay."

 _Pathetic_ , the other one hissed in his mind.

He mentally cringed and cursed himself too. The word fell from his lips so carelessly, he wanted to smother it and forget anyone heard it.

But she certainly heard it, her head snapped back sharply to him with a perplexed taunt of her brow. His face was half shadowed, but she could see he was berating himself internally already for saying it, but yet he didn't take it back.

"Okay," She surprised him, only pausing briefly before adding softly, "But only for a little while." The undertone was clear, despite it being two years since they entered each other lives, she still did not allow herself to fall asleep around him again.

There was a scowl on his face, but his eyes didn't follow her and she wasn't convinced it was at her. Never the less, he didn't object to her moving around the bed to the empty space on his right. With a lit flick her wrist, the dimmed light orb moved up and hung the room as if it had part of the ceiling fan all along.

His head turned to her when the mattress dipped from her seat. She didn't lift the covers by any means, instead sat atop of them with her back against the headboard and tucked her arms around her knees after dropping her wand on the nightstand.

She didn't dare lay down next to him, at the same eye level. It just felt too intimate, she reasoned, given how quiet he was and the obvious tension from his nightmare.

He dropped from his elbows and sagged back against the pillow. His eyes stared up at the ceiling with a tightness around them that she was knew he was still in his own head.

"You want to talk about it?" She offered after a several painstaking minutes of silence between them, she continued to hug her knees while her toes twitched against the delicate fabric.

"Not particularly," His tone was flat and without hesitation.

She barely even shrugged, as she would've been more surprised if he said yes. Instead, she mulled over what to say next. Asking him about work or commenting on the recent weather just seemed too flippant. At the same time, a more vapid person would take this as an invitation to ramble on about their own nightmares. A moment like this seldom passed.

"Why the snake?" She voiced aloud, visualizing the pearlescent scales she had once admired. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but time had passed too quickly.

He turned to her at the odd question.

"I know you were drawn to the Battle. But, you never told me why you choose the snake as a…" She frowned not really sure her words, "A vessel."

"To possess," He corrected her, calling it for what it was. His chest dipped from a sigh and he turned his gaze back to the ceiling. His hands splayed lightly across his abdomen. "Possession is not an easy feat and I was quite weak at the time. The other two figured out what I was really trying to do and they… latched on. Nearly overpowered me," He confessed in a low humming voice.

Hermione wanted to protest with more questions, but held her tongue.

"Human possession is the most challenging," He admitted and glanced to her as the thought came to him. "I believe even you have witnessed to his previous attempts."

She knew the _he_ that he referred to was the Original. She couldn't remember at one point he stopped getting _me_ and _him_ confused when talking about the shared memories. It also jostled her memories and she had to admit that was the first time in many years she even thought about her first year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Even at the height of his power, he wasn't strong enough" Tom gave a humorless snort, thinking of a different time than Hermione. "He could never do it, how could I? He was thwarted by a mere _boy_ , barely even a man." The image of pale flesh writhing against the dark marble danced across his mind. Shattered glass littered across the floor, reflecting the light of the golden monstrosity of a fountain behind him. Even in that moment, standing over a dark haired child that had been the fixation of many fragments, he rebelled against him.

"You know what that boy said to him?" He smirked at Hermione, but she saw the hollowness of the expression in his eyes. If she knew who he was talking about, she didn't say. She just shook her head, not daring to interrupt.

"He said, 'You're the _weak_ one," Tom's voice was low and quiet, but carried a bite that sliced right through her. The next words came out with disgusted venom, "You will never love or friendship. And I feel _sorry_ for you."

He shook his head, looking back to the ceiling, choosing not to see the sad eyes that followed him. "Weak," He scoffed bitterly. And don't get him stared about how pathetic it is to have that boy's pity.

Tom frowned when he realized that Hermione was still silent.

He looked at her, really looking at her. Her lips were set in a thin light, but she hardly guarded her thoughts. "You don't think I'm weak," He wondered, "… Do you?"

Her lower lip disappeared into her mouth as she bit it hardly. She could pacify him with an immediate denial.

Less brave people would shy to that type of response immediately.

He was vulnerable.

And she could be cruel.

Lies always seemed crueler.

"I do," She confessed, the words feeling hoarse on her throat.

The offensive rippled across his expression immediately. He rolled to his side to face her, propping on an elbow to rise closer to her eye level. He didn't do it to lean closer, if anything away.

She clarified before his scowl could become a vocalized snarl, "Only because you don't realize you could have those things that make us stronger if you just allowed yourself."

The scowl stopped before a snarl, but his expression still twitched in disbelief and distaste as if those two things could cause physical revulsion.

He barely blinked before sputtering, "I've never been interested in your friendship."

* * *

It was probably well deserved for what she said, but that didn't make it feel any less like a knife to the gut. How could she kid herself? If anyone would have had value to him, she thought it would have been her. There had to be some meaning between them after all of this.

She couldn't recall a precise moment when their original arrangement had dissolved. She thought at some point they had chosen each other's companionship. They had choose to live, to thrive, and build goals and dreams together. Any time one of them could have walked away from the other. They didn't acknowledge it, but was that not a bond of some sort? If nothing else, at least friendship?

She saw him and he saw her.

And she felt so small so quickly in just a few words. She hated how quickly the sensation of prickling around her eyes arose.

"I think I'll go now," She stammered quickly, sitting up from the headboard and turning towards the nightstand to grab her wand so she could get out like she originally should have. Her legs stretched for the edge of the bed.

Tom blinked, his expression deadpanning at her reaction. "Hermione, wait," His hand shot out to her upper arm to stop her.

She froze, but didn't turn to him. Her head kept down, staring at the free hand midair reaching to collect her wand. His fingers wrapped firmly around her arm, but they weren't painful or truthfully tight enough to cause physical alarm. A curtain of curls blocked her face from him.

"You misunderstood," His voice took a different turn, a gentle coax.

Her face twisted in confusion, unsure how she could have misinterpreted that. His message seemed pretty clear.

"Hermione," He repeated her name with a sinful silkiness.

When she didn't move, she felt the _please_ in his tone as he murmured her name again.

 _Now who's the weak one_ , she thought as she reluctantly turned her back to him. He was much closer now.

"Allow me to make myself clear," He requested, staring at her intently. The worries of nightmares, possession and weakness erased from his demeanor so abruptly it stunned her. Instead, the shadows casted his grey eyes in darkness that bore into her.

The hand on her arm loosened as he shifted in the bed. He coaxed her to squarely face him, one arm reaching across her to hold himself. Being cornered between him and the headboard would've caused more alarm if she saw more than just Tom in his eyes.

Instead, she was distracted by the hand that was holding her back reaching for her face. Slowly and deliberately, his fingers gathered her thick hair and pushed the locks behind her ear. Once satisfied, his eyes raked across her face, starting from her chin before moving up to meet her eyes.

She felt her face beginning to flush. He was so close and his gaze was nearly suffocating. The flush was worse because she felt his fingertips linger below her ear, barely touching her jawbone.

"I have _never_ ," His voice was firm with conviction. "been interested in your _friend_ ship."

Her stomach gave another painful churn, but not nearly in the same way as before. Any words died in her throat before she could think of them.

She looked for a fault. A deceit. Any sign of a crack in the façade. If there was a façade, but she couldn't see it even as he leaned closer to her. Even as his fingers slide across her skin to the back of her neck, to hold her head still. Even as he tilted his head glided purpose.

She didn't close her eyes in time, but the first caress was enough to lull them shut as something else in her fluttered awake. She had been kissed in more way than one by him, but this stirred something else entirely. It started in her toes and rose rapidly up through her core. He coaxed her upper lip without hesitation, drawing her in before coaxing her lower lip next.

He poured himself into her, it felt as if she was lapping at something precious. It wasn't aggressive or primal desperate ache as many other times had been. But it was a raw beckoning to her, opening her to join him at the edge of something.

And rather push it away or shy away from the uncertainty of it all, his tongue flittering across her lips begging with words he would never say.

Her hands rose up to thread her fingers into his hair, pulling him for another long drag of fleshly sensation. He inhaled deeply as she began to respond to him. Faintly, she heard the covers the bed rustle as he wrestled the hindrance away between them. She was more focused on breaking her lips away briefly to catch her breath. He didn't relent, instead dragging his lips to her neck, leaving deliberate wet kisses that pulled at her skin in a way that made her stir anxiously.

Her eyes followed the flexing of his shoulders and down over the turn of his back muscles as Tom shifted more of his body to hover over hers. Before his lips met hers again, she shifted down on the bed to allow her head to rest against a pillow instead of pressing painfully against the wooden headboard, his lips chasing her movements.

Before long, her hands on his sides, feeling along his abdomen before going to his back and shoulders. The kisses were quickly becoming not enough and it became clear for him as well. His hands brushed over her chest, figuring out her nighttime attire consisted of only the shirt.

Sudden the bitter cold air was enough to tear her lips away from his with a gasp.

She only caught a swollen lip smirked from him before he was kissing her again, this time his body pressing more fully to hers. Naturally, she arched into him, reaching for the sensation and warmth of his flesh. Her mind took a few muddle moments before putting together he had vanished her shirt, the hand massaging her breast proved distracting enough.

Feeling the fabric on his hips, she decided two could play.

A short moment later, she felt a chuckle rumble through his lips and chest at the disappearance of his boxers. Ultimately, she lost her shorts and the spar.

But it didn't feel a loss any way as she became overwhelmed with every inch of him. Every stroke of his hands on her skin, the burn in his eyes every time their eyes met. Especially every time she became a little more broken with every whispering of her name and moan that feel off her lips. He moved slowly with no rush in the pace, drawing out each thrust as if he could every piece of her that fell away. There was no urgency in his actions, as if he knew just how much she was drowning in him.

She felt two single tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, although he never saw them because his face was buried in her neck at that point. They rolled down her temples and disappeared into her hair and sweat. It was not in sadness. Maybe it was awe, maybe it was mourning something else entirely. Every call of his name was a surrender of something she didn't know she had left to surrender.

All she knew, come morning she had no how she could survive this.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello everyone! I know it's been a long time but I want to say a special thank you to everyone who kept leaving reviews and messages, even long after my last update, and reminding me how much you love this story. It is truly what has inspired me to come back to this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next ones in story. Please let me know if you're still out there and enjoying this story with a review.


	33. Chapter 33

The daylight coming in his bedroom stirred Tom from sleep. The crisp, sterile air alerted his senses to his isolation immediately. Lifting his head, bleary eyes spotted the ruffled up covers that had been occupied the night before.

She had made it explicitly clear that she wouldn't linger, but the frown fleeted across his expression anyway.

Reaching to the other half of the bed, he perked up when his fingertips still felt warmth in the fabric. So she hadn't left that long ago, he mused. He didn't doubt she didn't get a wink of sleep even after he drifted off, but was still surprised she stayed until sunrise.

His eyes wandered over to the nightstand and spotted her wand. He sat up straight quickly at that.

She wouldn't left her wand if she wasn't intending to come back and get it. Coming back would mean a conversation. And a conversation that likely involved last night. He looked to the door, seeing it left wide open. The sunlight cast from the hallway was probably what woke him up.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to wait around for her to come back. He left the wand where it was and climbed out of bed.

He threw on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. A glance in the hallway to her bedroom that was firmly closed told him that she was probably downstairs. As he eased down the stairs, he rubbed at his temples, feeling the other passenger in his mind reappearing. He had made himself scarce last night, but of course that wouldn't last.

Tom turned the corner coming into the kitchen and stopped casually in the entryway.

Hermione's back was to him, reaching inside a cupboard to a high shelf for a coffee mug. What caused a smirk spread across his features was her choose of attire. The hem of her shirt rose along the back of her thighs and the extra fabric of the sleeves were bunched at her elbows.

Tom bit back a cringe from the scathing comments of his passenger, but didn't let it stop him. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and leant casually against the entryway. His eyes continued to rake over her as she stood barefoot in the kitchen, her hair still a tussled mess, in nothing but the shirt he had discarded the night before.

Clearly she had grabbed the first article of clothing she could find. The memory of why hers were not available brought a twitch to his groin, causing him to shift on his feet.

The scathing was quickly becoming screaming in his head. Berating him for admiring the feminine form of filth, to put it lightly.

Tom winced, attempting to hide it behind a cough.

* * *

She turned to him, her hands pausing at the coffee maker on the counter. Half a blink before recognition flickered across her face, "Good morning." She raised her mug towards him, "Coffee?"

"Please," A lazy grin blossomed as he watched her rise back on her toes to grab another mug.

A comfortable silence followed for short while he watched her.

The kitchen clock read quarter past nine. "You're not going in today?" He asked, knowing it was unusually for her to rise and disappear early on Saturdays.

"No," She answered him while nearly drowning her coffee in cream. "The next milestone for my project got approved, but the actual funds won't be available until next week."

"What about you?" She asked him, after offering out a straight black mug. "I thought you were meeting with Gareth?"

Tom gave a disinterested half shrug of his shoulder, pale fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. "Gareth got called into the office," He answered simply, not envying the pile of paperwork he knew he was dealing with at this moment.

Hermione just gave a simple, "Oh" as she leant back against the countertop a few paces from him.

The silence that carried on between them afterwards caused the smirk to linger on his lips even as he took a sip of the hot beverage. He could practically see the gears ticking in her mind as they stared at each other, almost daring the other to break the silence first. Her impatience was evident in the way she rubbed a heel against the other ankle.

One, then two light taps of her forefinger against the rim of her mug before she caught herself.

* * *

Maybe it was childish, but the idea that neither of them had somewhere to be made the morning all the more anxious for her. Waking up this morning so many mixed emotions and unanswered questions could almost be bearable if he hurried out and she could try to bury it down somewhere deep and dark. But now, they had the entire day before them for it to stare her in the face.

Much like the way he was leaning with such ease and a knowing grin that hadn't left his face. She was nearly crawling out of her sink and he looked so damn smug, it caused her to simmer more.

"I have to ask at least _one_ thing," She finally blurted out with half of her cup gone. An infuriating eyebrow quirked as if to mark the score his favor.

"Go on," He granted, as if expecting nothing less.

"About last night," She stammered at first. "It was… different, right?" She hated the words almost as soon as they came out. "It wasn't just in my head, right? That was something else?"

Amusement danced in his eyes as he regarded her. "Technically, all of this is just in our heads and that's three questions," He quipped.

Hermione's face deadpanned with exacerbation.

"But yes…" He continued before it could become a full on withering glare. "It was," He paused to mull it over a sip of his coffee. " _Different_."

Hermione's shoulders picked up with an easier inhale. "Oh, good," She muttered quickly before taking another sip.

She let the liquid scold her throat a bit from gulping a little too much while she thought was easier than expected. It still itched at her though.

"Okay," She cleared her throat inquisitively, "But _how_ different?"

Tom gave an open chuckle at the bright witch that could never ask just one question. "Let's just," He paused to clear his throat. "Say… Say that," The humor left his face and his head jerked, as if trying to shoo a buzzing fly from his ear.

"That, I…" He fumbled over the words, this time squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to shake off the annoyance.

"Tom?" Hermione slowly set her mug on the counter beside her, starting to become alarmed with his demeanor.

"I know," A hand rubbed at his temple while the words sputtered out jerkily. "That I," He rubbed his knuckles white and his shoulders began to visibly tense. "I'm only," He heaved a hiss through his teeth before opening his eyes to look at her. She thought she saw a glint of red in them. "Only a fraction, of a…"

This time the mug dropped from his hands. Both went to his temples, nearly tearing at his own hair and his expression clenched with pain.

"Tom!" She gasped and stepped towards him when the cry ripped from his lips. His shoulders hunched off, trying to throw off an invisible weight.

Her fingers barely brushed the fabric of his shirt before a jolt of accidental magic stung her sharply. Hermione stumbled back, barely registering the zap and clutching her hand to her chest as she stared wide-eyed at Tom.

His fingers scrapped down his face roughly while his features distorted. She barely blinked cognitive recognition of the shadow that rose from his eyes. It gaped through hollow sockets before letting out an ear piercing screech of its own.

The screech sent another wave of magic through the room, visibly crackling in the air, and this time striking the dinette table. The table went skidding across the floor before crashing into the sliding door with a glass shattering crack.

Hermione clutched onto the kitchen counter for support. Tearing her eyes from the table and overturned chairs to Tom leaning his full body against the refrigerator. He gasped and thrashed, hands clawing at the back of his head.

Seeing him step away from the entryway, she took the chance to dash for the stairs – damning herself for leaving her wand up there.

Half way up the stairs, her knees buckled as the house gave a shudder. Another explosion in the kitchen, reverberating with the shattering of dishware. She gripped the handrails for support, whipping her head back for a split second – torn between seeing if he was okay and getting somewhere safe.

She raised a hand and forced herself to concentrate long enough to summon her wand. Feeling the familiar wood firmly in her fingers, she spun on her heels and descended back down the stairs.

She hit the landing just in time to catch another flash of red energy. A flick of her wand deflected it, she tried not to cringe at the books being knocked off her shelves. She turned to the kitchen, her stomach sick from the howling anguish she heard.

Tom was thrown against the far counter, his face and shoulders hunched over awkwardly.

Barely hesitating, Hermione sent a _Stunner_ in his direction.

An arm flung out with a lash of blue light, bouncing the Stunner. The burst of power exploded on the kitchen sink, sending porcelain and water spraying across the room.

She tried a _Petrificus Totalus_ succeeded by another _Stunner_.

But she only ended up lunging to the side to avoid the _Totalus_ rebounding back at her. The Stunner caught another wave of magic that exploded closer to Tom this time. The confined space and raw energy caused more splintering in the cabinets while Tom was smashed back against the refrigerator and Hermione stumbled back painfully against the corner of the entryway.

The force winded her and she took a couple deep gasps to recover.

By the time she did, she realized the air had stilled, with the exception of the dismantled sink continuing to spray water.

Tom's form was slumped against the refrigerator and his head to the side, a crimson streak smearing the surface.

"Tom!" She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees.

Her hands shook at his shoulder, wand still in one. "Wake up!" She hated how pale his expression was, laced with red streaks from scratching himself. "Wake up, Tom!"

She dropped the wand to cup his cheeks and lean closer. "Don't leave me here," She begged, borderline ordered him. "Wake up!"

He stirred with a groan and she stilled.

"Her-Hermione?" The name passed of his lips groggily while his eyes flickered under his eyes.

She let out a deep sigh of relief. Her thumbs brushed over his cheeks while his eyes fluttered open.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips into the hairline of his forehead. "Thank Merlin!" She breathed in relief. Perhaps selfishly, she lingered there a moment, feeling the warmth of his flesh still in her hands and listening to him breathe deeply to gather himself.

"Are you okay?" She asked, leaning back from him to see his eyes, grateful they were a stormy grey and not filled with red hatred. Her fingers didn't move from his face, but he didn't force them away.

"I… don't know," He mumbled absently. One hand grasped at her forearm barely there while his right clutched tightly at his chest, white knuckles against the dark fabric. His eyes darted around, bewildered before settling on her.

"You scared the bloody hell out of me, Thomas Marvolo," She chided, trying to force herself to be angry instead of scared.

"My apologies for the inconvenience," He murmured drily, a smirk being more of a quick grimace.

Hermione frowned at him in concern, dropping her hands from his face. She glanced him over while he remain seated, recovering. Both ignored the water in the spraying in the room, starting to thoroughly soak her back especially.

"I think most of these cuts are superficial," She observed. "Hold still, I can heal them."

Tom didn't object to her care. Instead, he stared at her openly as she worked on his arms first. Hermione nearly squirmed under his gaze, it wasn't harsh, mocking, or guarded. Instead it was as if he drank each detail of her features like a dying man lapped at an oasis. His right hand remained clutched tightly at his chest, but he watched her in silence heal the cut on his head before the scratches on his face.

Her thumb brushed over the last scratch on his face, choosing to heal those nonverbal. His hand caught hers before she could pull away, allowing her palm to press against his cheek.

"Tom," She spoke much more calmly this time, keeping the shiver from the cold water out of her voice. "What was that?" She dragged her eyes away from their joined hands to his gaze. "I've seen you fight You-Know-Who before, but it was _never_ like that before."

Tom took his time before answering her. First, he pulled his cheek back from her hand to press kiss into her palm. Hermione let her breathe still while he took a deep inhale. "Nothing good I'm afraid," His lips brushing against her skin as he spoke.

He turned back to her before she could ask what he meant by that, speaking a little firmer with trepidation, "I know where the other two fragments are."

Hermione's stomach gave a drop with the obvious question in her eyes.

He went, "They're back where it started. Where the first one of us was created."

Hermione breathed with a shudder as it dawned on her, "The Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello everyone! I want to give a big thank you to casualdarings who helped beta this chapter and spare you all the horrible typos. I am really overwhelmed and touched by the response I got last chapter, especially after so much time. It really inspired me to keeping going. Please let me know how much you enjoyed this chapter!


	34. Chapter 34

"Another international portkey so soon?" Gareth's voice drawled across his desk. His eyes made no attempt to hide the amusement he held from having the power in the situation. While Tom was leaning over his desk with both hands tightly on the edge of the wood, the Assistant Director was lounging back in his high back with ease.

"Or a Floo would suffice," Tom corrected smoothly. "Either way, it must be off the books."

"As opposed to inquiring through standard procedures?" Gareth questioned with a cool raised eyebrow.

"Not enough time," Tom supplied quickly.

"I see," Gareth hummed. Silence fell into the room as he stared back at Tom.

Hermione and Tom didn't linger at the house much longer after Tom's revelation. A few quick spells were cast to keep the kitchen from flooding in their absence. Otherwise, they both changed into black robes, grabbed the basilisk hide gloves, their wands and little else before Apparating to the MACUSA, finding Gareth in his office buried in paperwork.

"While typically I am supportive of a weekend tryst with a beautiful witch," Gareth's dripped slowly with condescension. His eyes flickering over to Hermione to see the young witch giving a very open roll of her eyes.

He drew his gaze back to Tom meaningfully, "Even 'off the books' activities fall against a ledger somewhere, where they are weighed and scored."

If Gareth was begin to vex Tom's patience, it only showed in a slow, controlled inhale through his nostrils before speaking again. He forced the words carefully through his lips, "And I'm sure the keeper of such a ledger would understand the importance of keeping the events of one's past away in preservation of the future."

Gareth's interest visibly picketed. "And this would ensure the past stayed sufficiently where it belonged?" He doubted, beginning to lean forward.

"Undeniably," Tom assured with confidence.

Gareth gave a barely there nod. He leant forward, putting his elbows against the table while his fingers templed against his chin. For several long painstaking moments, he stared at Tom, looking for a fault. Briefly, his eyes darted to the young witch several paces behind off to his side. She fidgeted anxiously with her wrist, a faint ripple of a Glamour Charm shimmered, but he didn't have the time to inquire of it.

He decided a portkey was too noticeable given the country of choice. "An international Floo connection to another governing body still requires someone to accept the connection on the other side," Gareth pointed out to Tom.

"I have a contact inside the Ministry prepared," Tom declared undeterred.

Hermione's head whipped up fast enough to cause a twinge in her neck, nearly miming the words of her thoughts with an incredulous gawk.

A grin spread across Gareth's features touched with amusement once more.

* * *

Hermione still seethed internally as she stepped through the green flames. Who could have Tom possibly contacted before they arrived at the MACUSA? And so quickly? She had barely stepped away from him except to change when they were at the house.

She barely had a moment to truly mull it over before the distorting experience of Floo ended. Luckily, after all these years, she didn't stumble out like an ungraceful first year. She stepped out in ease, although her stomach still lurched a little bit each time, into what appeared to be an empty office.

Empty save for the young man standing a few feet away with his sleeve rolled up, staring at his forearm with a slight grimace. Once slightly faded scarring churned with renewed life and stark darkness against pale flesh.

At her arrival, his head picked up and expression immediately morphed into a combination of disbelief and confusion. "Merlin's nut sack! He blurting out loudly, " _Granger_?!"

Hermione nearly stumbled back into the fire, her face twisting in an equally undignified manner herself, "Malfoy?"

"Do attempt some restraint in the company of a lady, Draco," Tom's voice chided from the fireplace. Hermione lifted her head to see the dark wizard join her side. "As uncouth as Abraxas ever was," He shook his head at her, almost attempting to excuse him.

Draco blanched nearly the same shade of his hair. Instead of arguing back, his eyes darted down and he muttered quickly, "Yes sir." His hand fidgeted at his sleeve to cover it up again.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing – still trying to swallow down her own shock.

"What level are we on?" Tom focused his attention on Draco.

"Sixth, sir," His eyes remained fixated on the floor.

Tom's eyes narrowed on him, annoyance creeping into the seams.

Mentally, Hermione hoped no one from the second floor, the DMLE, decided to catch the lift when they did.

"Do you have it?" Tom asked, distracting Hermione from her own thoughts.

Draco nodded barely, "I wasn't able to get as much as you –"

Tom cut him off with a sneer. "Look me in the eyes when you speak," His lip curled a bit. "It's the twenty-first century, my god have some pride."

Draco shifted anxiously on his feet and for a moment Hermione thought there was more color in his cheeks. "Y-yes, sir," He stammered at first before dragging his gaze upwards reluctantly. "This was all Astoria was able to nick from Controlled Potions and Substances without anyone noticing," Draco produced a small cylindrical vial from his pocket.

Tom frowned as he took it from his fingers. He swished the clear liquid back in forth, inspecting the consistency closely, "There's only enough for one person."

"Still trying to cozy up to your betrothal?" Hermione couldn't help one petty jab for old time's sake.

" _Ex_ -betrothal, no thanks to your lot," Draco snapped back, for a moment forgetting Tom standing there, to glare at Hermione.

" _My_ lot?" Hermione gaped, "I had nothing to do with your father getting arrested _again_ –"

"Enough!" Tom's voice cut in, true irritation seeping in. "This is neither the time nor the place," He directed the words coldly between them before settling on Draco. "This Floo connection isn't going to remain open long before someone notices. I suggest you gather Narcissa quickly."

Draco swallowed back another glare at Hermione. "She's already on her way," He nodded in response.

"Good," Tom acknowledged. Without wasting a moment, he opened his shoulders to the door and offered an open hand back to Hermione. "Shall we?"

Certainly with no interest in staying with Draco, Hermione smoothly placed her hand in his.

Before the door shut completely behind them, she could practically feel Draco's smirk and heard, "See you in New York, Granger."

* * *

The lift doors shut with just them inside. Hermione leant on the wall opposite from Tom, needing to put some distance between them and allow her mind to catch up with how quickly everything was happening. He was still thumbing the golden vial in his hand.

"Recruiting another Malfoy, really?" She couldn't help herself from challenging drily, "Hardly turning a new leaf there, Tom."

Tom gave a disinterested shrug, not raising his head. "Some habits die harder than others I supposed," He mused blandly before flashing a brief smirk. "Although, I _do_ have you to thank for graciously informing me of Mr. Malfoy's position at the Ministry."

Hermione scowled, struggling to remember when she had even mentioned Draco. It had been some time, she admitted, back when they were still in the book store. "That was not my intent and you know it," She accused, her eyes distracted by his hand movement. For a moment, her inquisitive nature took over, "Wait, isn't that –"

"Felix Felicis," He finished for her smoothly. He gave pause, concern shadowed in his face. "I'm not opposed to any advantage I can get, but there's only enough for one…" The unspoken question hung between them.

How Slytherin, she thought, but had to admit it was slightly brilliant.

"You should take it," She suggested swiftly. It was his fight for his soul after all, she reasoned.

Tom stalled before uncorking the vial. His eyes flickered between it and her before finally deciding to knock it back.

"How do you feel?" She asked him after a few minutes, watching the sensation of the potion wash over him. She couldn't say she particularly missed it herself. While she heard Harry rave about the high from their school years, her single experience seemed more unsettling than pleasant.

Judging the scrunch in Tom's face, he was of similar mind. "Anxious," He supplied quickly, "As in we should leave now. This very moment," He swiftly moved around Hermione to jab the button to the nearest floor, pressing it repeatedly until the doors open.

* * *

Hermione figured she would never know who they avoiding riding the lift the rest of the way to the Atrium. Tom tugged her by the hand through rows of a cubicles and down a few hallways before finding stairs to the rest of the way. She knew he was drawn by the pull of the potion and didn't bother questioning it.

Ironically, when they Apparated into Hogsmeade, his pace slowly dramatically. She nearly stumbled into him a few times as he took in their surroundings. They avoided the street her old shop was on. Tom led her to the Honeyduke's passageway.

When she felt them slip past into Hogwarts' ground inside the tunnel, Hermione raised her hand to fly the rest of the way as she had done before. Tom's hand stopped her on her forearm. "No need to rush, little witch," His voice echoed softly in the damp halls. With a flick of a few fingers, an orb of light guided the way for them.

Hermione shook her head, knowing it was not a short walk to the castle. "But, by the time we get there, it'll be…" She hesitated to recall the time.

"Just after curfew," Tom supplied with a knowing grin, "And the halls will be quite empty."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, running the numbers in her head again. The day still felt young to her with the six hour time jump. "Right," She agreed sheepishly.

Tom moved with ease even as the silence lingered on between them. Even without the potion, he had moved with an ease that she wasn't used to, but she couldn't figure out what exactly about it bothered her. Perhaps his shoulders were a little less tense, perhaps his glare seemed a little less harsh – except at Gareth earlier.

"Did something happen between you and Gareth?" Hermione asked. Truthfully there dozens of questions running her mind, but she didn't think her nerves could handle one that flirted too close to her own truths right now.

"What makes you say that?" Tom turned his head to her, clearly surprised by the question.

"Oh come on, Tom," She urged him, "The tension between you is palpable."

The ease in his eyes hardened into a steely glare ahead. At first Hermione thought he wasn't going to answer her. "He can be rather vexing at times," He granted vaguely.

"In what way?" Hermione pressed, unable to admit she ever wanted to be alone in the same room with Gareth. She understood their friendship but never felt as relaxed around him as his wife.

Tom sighed before gripping out without looking at her, "He parades himself as a progressive modern wizard, but at the first sleight of hand he's always trying to insert more… traditional views."

Hermione's eyebrows rose at the open slight.

"Did you know he took me a few blocks west of the MACUSA the other day?" Tom went on, glancing down at her briefly meaningfully, "Near Liberty Street."

"He didn't," Hermione paled as she realized.

"He did. He was trying to remind me how _dangerous_ the Nomaj can be," Tom scoffed with open disgust. "As if I need reminding of their aptitude for bringing down buildings upon themselves."

Hermione grimaced, not quite knowing for which scenario more; imaging Tom trying to contain his anger around so much destruction or of a young boy who spent many evening in tunnels waiting out air raids.

"While certainly tasteless," Hermione conceded, but couldn't help point out. "To be fair, Gareth thinks you grew up in a different war."

Tom's eye flitted succinctly to her before going back to the path ahead of them. "Right," He agreed flatly after a moment, "Of course."

* * *

As they neared the end of the tunnel, keeping her doubts at bay did not last. Her nerves crept under her flesh, like a crawling insect, chewing away at her securities and any sense of calm. It wasn't a harsh bite, but more of a laggard gnaw. Tom's eagerness to head full long into confronting the other two fragments bothered her, as if he was not letting onto something. Her realization of his inside connection to the Ministry was shocking, but just as quickly ended and she didn't know how reconcile the meaning behind that. He wasn't a reckless man, she knew that, but he wasn't the type to move full speed ahead with no regard for the wakes it leaves behind.

"Tom," Her voice interrupted as they spotted the back of the canvas, leading to the inner walls of Hogwarts. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Tom turned his shoulders, the question evident.

Hermione shifted on her feet anxiously. She dispelled the Glamour Charm on her arms, revealing the dark reptilian hide on her hands and forearms. "We've barely tested out the latest revisions," She explained apprehensively. "And I've never, been successful in binding a soul to any object, not even an inanimate one. Don't you think this is a bit premature?"

The corner of Tom's mouth picked up in a lazy smirk. "If you wait for perfection, it will never come, Hermione," He assured her. He gave a pause before adding cheekily, "Of course, we could always wait until they leave the Chamber. I'm sure they'll be very merciful to Britain's youngest and finest."

Hermione's nose wrinkled in aggravation. Sometimes she's truly detested it when he had a point, but she wasn't completely reassured.

Tom could tell this. He went on to add, "And perhaps, an inanimate object isn't necessarily the solution…"

Hermione jerked her back. If not an object, there was just the two of them and he certainly didn't seem to be referring to her, which would leave… "No," She denied immediately, "Absolutely not."

"Who else?" Tom challenged. "I've done it before."

"But –"

"I'm standing here, because of you," Tom declared honestly. "Everything it took to get to us to this moment happened because of you."

Hermione blanched.

"I am strong enough because of you and what you've done," Tom stated, stepping forward. Light fingertips reached to brush against her cheek. The touch was a flutter of a butterfly's wings that made her want to stifle the urge to weep.

He leaned closer, until she could see nothing but the dark window into his soul, the one of Tom. "We started this together," He murmured. "Let's finish it. Together."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello everyone! Another special thank you to casualdarings who helped spare you all from a lot of horrible typos! I'm so touched by the continual support, which motivated me to keep writing. I know there wasn't a lot of action in this chapter, but I hope it's still worth it! Please read, enjoy and let me know what you think!


	35. Chapter 35

As a teenager, Hermione used to think one simply does not just sneak into Hogwarts. As an adult, she was finding that one could quite literally walk through the halls with little disruption. After they stepped out from behind the portrait, a Disillusionment Charm and the occasional Confundus for a suspicious painting was all it took to get them to the second floor girl's bathroom. In Hogwarts' defense, Hermione figured they were hardly expecting dark wizards as they did in her youth.

Without much ado, Tom opened the Chamber and they descended into the depths of the castle. Hermione fought against the chill that ran through her body with every step closer. The rumbling of the partially collapsed tunnel brought her back to her second year. The moment they stood outside the last door lined with snake emblems caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably, thinking of her once red-headed companion.

Tom paused at the door as well, with his hand against the stone, but not for the same reasons as Hermione.

"They know I'm here," He announced after some thought. "I can feel them."

"Do you know what they're doing?" Hermione asked, having tried to run through the possibilities. In the Chamber itself, there really wasn't much as she recalled. However, it would be a secluded location to conduct whatever business one desired.

"I don't know," Tom murmured almost thoughtlessly, frowning at the door. "They cut off me from seeing. It's me they're after, that much I know."

Hermione stirred anxiously, her confidence dwindling further. "Can you try to see?" She asked, causing Tom to look towards her curiously. He appeared much more at ease and she hoped that just wasn't the potion. "Like the way that Harry would?"

Tom gave a humorless chuckle when he realized what she meant. "You are far too clever, little witch," The grin didn't quite reach his eyes, overshadowed by something else she couldn't put her finger on. "But, I'm afraid that is no longer an option," He disagreed.

"Why not?" Hermione blurted out, but he was already turning to the door and speaking Parseltongue.

If he did respond, she couldn't hear it over the rumbling of the grand door. With sickening memorization, she watched the stone snake slither around the edge, unlocking each bolt along the way.

Tom pulled out his wand from his robes, causing Hermione to do the same. "Come," He offered his other hand out to her, ignoring her question. The determination in his expression silenced her concern and apprehensively she placed her hand in his before they stepped inside.

* * *

Tom lit a _Lumos_ to guide the way and Hermione quickly became grateful that he knew how to navigate the winding tunnels. The narrow walls made her nerves feel like they were suffocating further and it felt as if her heart was pounding between her eardrums. She held tightly to Tom's hand, the only warmth in the damp, cold passageways. She had no doubt she would've taken a wrong turn without him.

It felt like an eternity passed in a flash before they rounded the final corner.

Hermione swallowed back a lump in her throat as the familiar Chamber filled her vision. The dampness weighed heavily on her nose and light bounced off the flood waters around the serpentine statues that lined the great room. The sculpture of Salazar Slytherin stood at the end, just as imposing and haunting as she remembered.

Tom's hand kept firmly around hers as they walked through the room. Neither said a word, she could scarcely hear a sound over the occasional drip of water and groan of pipes from deep within the cavern.

"Tom," Hermione's voice broke the oppressive stillness, but did nothing to reassure her. "Something's not right here…" Her eyes darted around, trying to figure out what was wrong.

"I agree," Tom was doing the same thing in her peripheral. The shadows darted along the walls as their wands chased them with the light. "This feels like it could be a…" His voice trailed uncertainly.

"Tom," She cut him off when it clicked. "Where's the basilisk's body?" Although it seemed as if the odor lingered, the chamber was by far much vaster without it, she realized.

He didn't answer her as they were both quickly distracted by the increasing groaning in the pipes. Hermione turned on her heel, back in the direction they had come from. The groaning grew into a reverberation that she could feel in her feet before suddenly stopping.

Her knuckles whitened against her wand as her eyes caught movement in the shadows. Eerily slow, it eased forward towards them. At first her eyes had trouble adjusting to what she seeing, first was catching the gleaming light bouncing from protruding bone. Bits of decayed flesh barely clung to a toothy jawline. The first fangs had been harvested, but left no less an intimidating array of razor blades behind.

A serpentine creature eased into their light. Once lively robust scales had given away to deteriorated flesh that struggled to cling to the remaining bones. Its eye sockets were hollow gouges of dried blood running down its stretch.

"Is that them?" Hermione gasped in disgust as the creature's body began to fill the chamber, she felt herself taking a step back.

"I believe so – look out!" Tom's voice shouted as the rotten basilisk lunged forward towards them.

Their hands broke apart. Tom ducked to the right and Hermione ducked to the left, both narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws. The front length of the snake's body slid into the statue of Salazar from the sheer momentum against the smooth stones. With the crash, Hermione noticed a decomposition cloud of dust rise. She barely had time to feel ill at the thought before the serpent turned its head towards Tom.

She heard his shouting of spells over its attempt to hiss, which came out more like the grinding of bones.

Hermione had to duck again when one of the spells aimed perfectly for its body managed to tear through a couple of rib bones, sending a spray of splinters, before the projectile continued on almost clean through.

Quickly, she scrambled to her feet to get some coverage behind one of the statues lining the room. Once there, she saw the head rise again for another lunge in Tom's direction.

Hermione quickly fired a couple of _Reducto_ 's at the serpent. While they hit, she noticed they only managed to crack a bone or flay more black rot from the corpse.

Growing more separate, Hermione shouted out, " _Sectumsempra_!" The flash of white missed the back of the serpent's head, instead nicking a tail section of its vertebrate. Unlike the other spells, it severed the spine, causing the section to fall to the ground with a horrific crash, but stilling after.

The creature let out a snarl, turning its head sharply in Hermione's direction.

She fired one more haphazardly before realizing it decided to come after her. Tom heard her shout. His own spell followed after the serpent while she sprinted amongst the statues, trying to avoid its next strike.

Hermione launched another over her shoulder. It grazed the jaw of the basilisk corpse, unhinging one side of its jaw. Tom continued to blast off more chunks of the snake's body. She darted in the rough outline of an infinity symbol, in the attempt to dodge the strikes of the snake, which clattered loudly against the solid stone structures.

She was beginning to run out of breath and out of space to run as she neared the head of Salazar Slytherin. She turned her shoulders to throw another spell, causing the creature to slow and flinch as more membrane sprayed from its throat. A blast of Tom's wand dealt a double blow causing the head to sever completely with a sickening crack.

Hermione shielded her face from the debris and threw her body to the side to avoid the falling head. She winced in pain from her ribs catching the hard floor, but rolled in time to see the corpse head sliding to a stop.

Her chest heaved painfully to catch her breath, but she was more fixated on the stilling movement of the serpent. The sounds of flesh sliding against the stone floor and rattling of bones gradually eased.

"Are you hurt?" Tom's voice came from the other side of the serpent. She could see his head over the corpse, his robes ruffled with grime of the Chamber and remnants of the snake she would rather not think about.

"I don't think so," She answered with a grunt as she got to her feet. Her ribs ached and her ankle gave a twinge from a particularly sharp curb she took, but other than a few scrapes she felt okay. "You?" She shouted back.

Tom shook his head. He opened his mouth to say more, but then skull of the snake gave a horrible tremor. The building vibrations dashed any hope she had it that it was over.

The vibrations grew to a rattle across the floor before the skull exploded with a deafening noise. Hermione barely blinked and threw up a _Protego_ before getting sprayed with most of the debris.

Two black forms rose from the blast, leaving trailing smoke behind them. Deep down, she didn't know how, but she knew those were the fragments and the same grim expression was on Tom's face. They bore none of the purity she had seen in others.

The first flew directly towards Tom. He deflected it with a lazy flick of his wand. His eyes watched the other one as did she, fly towards one of the side tunnels.

"Follow it!" Tom ordered. "Don't let it escape the Chamber!"

He turned to cast a Freezing spell on the other fragment.

* * *

Hermione barely nodded before dashing after it. She pocketed her wand as she ran and dissolved the Glamour Charm hiding her gloves. She dug deep into the strength of her thighs to keep up with the shadow and the depths of her mind to remember the specific incantations she needed.

Catching a glimpse of the shadow's trail, she raised a hand and shouted the soul variant of an _Accio_ charm, or so she hoped. She pushed away the doubts from the lack of testing of her theories.

The purple spell clipped the fragment enough to slow it down and for her to gain a few paces.

She raised her second hand. With a second incantation, the shadowy figure gave a lurch, as if suddenly choked by an invisible lasso. Tendrils of black sprawled out like a spider's legs, clawing at the tunnel walls for resistance.

Hermione clenched her teeth, using her magic to drag it bit by bit back towards her. She just had to contain it long enough for Tom to finish the other fragment. She had to make sure this foul thing didn't get to the surface and potentially the school children.

The dragon heartstring of the gloves began to glow brightly as she struggled to pull back the fragment. Her brow thickened with sweat as her fingers rolled in careful moments, as if she was trying to pack the billowing smoke into a snowball.

Maybe her concentration broke. Maybe she under estimated it. Either way, the tendentious moment of suspending the fragment slipped as quickly as water through her fingers. Her palm slid too far down.

The fragment lashed out not in the direction of the Chamber door, but back towards her. It snapped back like a broken cord, sinking into the seam of the glove. She barely processed the flash of light from the seam splitting open before the scream erupted horribly from her throat.

* * *

Tom gritted his teeth as he sent one spell after another after the fragment. The quick moving shadow dodged most of them and others were deflected as he did in return to the raw blast of magic volleyed back. _Expulso_ and _Stunners_ escalated into a barrage of Dark Spells, mostly aimed at maiming the longer the exchange carried on.

The shadow never spoke a word, but he could hear its thoughts and feelings clear as a voice in his head. It didn't appear to be much than the faint outline of a skull or face with sunken eyes. It was an assault of foul murmurs, accusations of disgrace and disgust that he found harder and harder to believe they were born of the same soul.

He shifted on his feet quickly, moving in and out of the snake statues while he considered how to contain the fragment long enough to do what he needed to.

At that point, he heard Hermione's scream echoing through the cavern while the fragment was doubling back for another strike.

Tom's head whipped in her direction, his nostrils and chest flaring with a renewed cold flurry.

Without another moment of hesitation, he pointed back towards the approaching fragment and aimed his wand. " _Avada Kedavra_!" Tom shouted, damning to hell the possible ramifications of trying to destroy a soul fragment.

The emerald jet caught the full brunt of the fragment. Tom didn't linger long enough to see how ghastly the shadow distorted and stretched. The shrilling pierce of a screech it left behind was good enough for now.

He ran through the tunnels towards Hermione, willing the instincts of his magic to find her.

* * *

She was lying on the ground when he found her. Her hair was splayed out in a dampen mess, robes covered in grime. More alarmingly was her head turned to the side, so pale and her arm that laid open.

"Hermione!" Tom shouted, sliding down to his knees roughly next to her.

Blood was beginning to pool and mixed with the tainted water puddles, running rapidly from her forearm.

"No, no _no_ ," Tom began to murmur over and over as he recognized the dark magic oozing from the wound. It nearly crackled off of her like static electricity when he hovered a hand above it.

"No," Tom began to snarl as his brow scrunched in concentration. He pulled at the dark magic, like a puppeteer pulling strings. "You can't have her," He hissed vehemently, "Not this one."

With each drag of magic, he could see the energy pulling from her arm, but only a glimpse before slipping control. Tom's hands began to shake as he continued to try anyway, refusing to believe every attempt was weaker than the last.

He only gave pause when he noticed the shift in the air. The puddles of water around them began to still before freezing into spindling ice. His own exhale came out as a thick cloud. He realized the sense of dread in his gut was not entirely his own.

Tom glanced back in the direction he came from in time to see long fingers covered with scabby grey flesh reach around the corner. A faceless black cloaked head followed next before revealing the rest of its figured, gliding in the air smoothly.

The screams echoed in his ear drums, nearly knocking him to the ground with the anguish of memories. Hermione's scream stood out the most in his mind. He had to glance down at her to remind himself it wasn't real.

He attempted _Reducto_ and _Protego_ to knock back the soulless beast, but it only proved to momentarily slow it down before pushing through the charm.

Tom gathered Hermione up before throwing her against his shoulder, keeping one hand free to cast spells as he stumbled quickly back towards the Chamber entrance.

Half of his spells sputtered out before they reached their target, weighed down by increasing exhaustion and despair.

A few sputtering silvery walls of light were enough to slow it down long enough for him to get to the heavy vault door.

He threw his and Hermione's weight against his back to shut the door behind them.

The hands of the creature stopped it from closing entirely, trying to scratching around the edge.

Tom jabbed his wand at hands, snarling, " _Incendio_!"

The flames caused it to let go with a shriek and enough give for Tom to slam the door completely shut.

Tom shifted Hermione in his arms, cradling her across his chest as he continued to lean against the door. He could hear the creature's cries of frustration on the other side, but couldn't help the relief he immediately felt.

His knees buckled, exhaustion outweighing relief, and his head lulled, struggling to keep his strength. Warily, he gave Hermione a shake, willing her to stir more beyond shallow breathing.

He looked up towards the half collapsed direction they had entered from, feeling too mortal to consider how he would get them both out of there. Lifting his wand one more time, Tom shuddered as he tried to collect his thoughts. With a grimace, he murmured two simple words.

A burst of silver light erupted from his wand, stronger than before. He watched as it darted about the confined space in its shimming form before sending it on with a flick of his wand.

After the light died away, he felt the darkness creep in around his vision.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Big thank you to casualdarings for helping beta this! I really hoped everyone liked this one. When I first dreamt up this fic, this chapter and the next few were the hallmark or the moment I've been building to. I'm sure you have lots of questions that will be answered soon.


	36. Chapter 36

Tom came around slowly. He picked his chin up from his chest with a faint groan.

It took several blurry eyed seconds to realize he was sitting far away from the Chamber. His robes were still covered in the mud and other grit, but the air was warm from a burning fireplace. Rather than huddling on the cold ground, he was seated in a simple chair in far from ordinary surroundings.

With a glare, his expression soured at the numerous portraits that lined the walls. Behind him, he could hear faint chiming of multiple assorted instruments. The imposing desk of the Headmaster in front of him was enough to set his lips into a tense thin line. Having found himself in this room, through various forms and memories over several decades, he has yet to recall a pleasurable experience and doubt this night would be any different.

The three wizards standing in front of the desk amidst a heated discussion only cemented that theory further. His eyes darted up and down them, weighing and measuring the dark charcoal uniforms of the first two. The third was dressed in a black uniform with white trim and embroidery. The Ministry of Magic symbol stood out as a stark contrast.

Sitting a mere few feet away from them, Tom couldn't lunge out at them even if he tried, despite feeling the twitch in his fingers. Heavy iron cladded shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles, keeping him in the chair. Even without the utter exhaustion of the energy spent earlier, he knew these were not normal restraints. Even the flicker of magic within fluttered out at his fingertips like a shell of a tickle.

The three were gathered around an object, discontent clear on their faces. Even without patting himself down, Tom knew his wand was gone. After squinting a bit further, he realized that was likely his wallet they held.

It didn't take long for them to notice his stirring. Their conversation fell short and the leader sent the other two away with a few words. He couldn't put his finger on the one with the thick Irish accent, but the other he recalled from St. Mungo's. And judging by the glare he gave as the two left, he now knew who Tom was.

"MACUSA, of course," The leader scoffed out, aggravation clear in his tone. He shook his head in disbelief. Dark unruly locks flickered on his forehead, for a moment revealing a faint scar. "That answers who opened that Floo," He tossed the wallet carelessly on the ground at Tom's feet, open to the page that he showed his identification.

Had he been feeling less wary, perhaps a smirk or goad would have responded. Instead, Tom's deadpanned expression only stared back with mild curiosity at the fact his little witch apparently chose to withhold that detail.

Perhaps the lack of reaction spurred the Head Auror on further, but Tom sensed, while the man before him was several years older than most of his shared memories, he still thinly veiled his emotions as before.

He gave it away in the tightness of his jaw, that he clenched to keep his shoulders from shaking. The same way his knuckles went white around his wand and his wrist as he held his hands in front of him, trying to appear at ease by leaning back against the edge of the Headmaster's desk. He kept the message loud and clear with the open display of his wand.

"Don't think for a moment you'll be granted any sort of diplomatic immunity," Harry tried once again to break the silence of the room. Silence save for the occasional stirring of a portrait and tick of a trinket, "Once I personally tell President Quahog the fraud you are."

At this, Tom did muster the energy to raise a calculating brow at him. "Please do," The first two words were raspier than normal. He paused to clear his throat going on in a low even tone, "I do hope to witness you making those accusations." Tom would envision how swimmingly well it would go to accuse the Americans of hiring Dark Lords.

His flippant response simply caused Harry to scowl further. His chest heaved in a slow sigh as he took a deep breath before going on, "I've known you to be many things, Voldemort, but a fool generally isn't one of them –"

"Marvolo, if you must," Tom cut him off in a tone that seemed ever tired of making that correction.

Harry stopped his train of thought, cocking his head slightly to regard Tom carefully. He found it unsettling because the man certainly was the image of the Dark Lord he had once battled. He did resemble the younger memories of Tom Riddle from the diary, but he had quite grown since then. While he had the reservation of the younger Riddle, this man seemed more worn out from time, aside from the obvious filth. His demeanor edged at Harry in a way that he couldn't quite settle on.

"Whichever one you are," Harry finally broke the staring contest between them in a calmer tone this time. For a moment trying to squint and see what Hermione described in so many letters, but he struggled. He said in a very matter of the fact manner, "The only way you're leaving this room is in those." His wand briefly pointed to the shackles on his wrists. An archaic Ministry restraint, but it got the job done, not that Tom was even making an attempt to test it.

"I don't doubt it, Potter," Tom replied evenly, glancing down briefly at his wrists, only making a mild attempt at lifting them.

Resignation. It clicked with Harry that's what he saw in him, which was a bit unnerving. He had seen anger, pain, despair, and pure violence from Voldemort and Tom Riddle, but this wasn't an emotion he had a face for until now.

"Is she alive?" Tom's voice interrupted with no attempt to hide his eagerness. "Is Hermione alive?"

Harry schooled his expression into a stony glare, snapping out quickly, "She's no longer your concern."

A flash of irritation, which sparked familiarity, pass through Tom. His eyes kept locked on Harry, burning for a legitimate answer.

Harry went on to ignore, as he was the one with the power in the room after all. "What I am concerned with is what you were doing to her in that Chamber," Harry prodded.

"To her?" Tom scrunched in honest confusion.

"To what end, I'm wondering," Harry gave the faintest shrug of his shoulders. He tried to wrap his head around it, trying to piece together what exactly happened in the Chamber. Of course he could get the answers later, but this would likely be the only time the two of them were alone. He went on, almost antagonistically, "Some sick reenactment of prior failures? Luring another Muggleborn into the Chamber? Your basilisk is long dead. What's left for you there?"

Tom said nothing, continuing to glare coldly at once Chosen One. Harry could've counted the moments off on each hand before the other wizard simply pulled his gaze away vacantly to the floor, continuing the silence.

"I'm in no hurry, Marvolo," Harry sighed out. For a moment, he checked the time on his wrist watch. "You can talk now, or you will talk later," He tried to bury smugness behind nonchalance. "Lucky for you, Horace Slughorn isn't as apt with Veritaserum as the previous Potions Master, but Neville is on his way to acquire some as we speak." Tom's eyes darting back up quickly were the only glimpse of a reaction. It caused Harry to faintly smirk before adding, "You _will_ talk."

"Is she alive?" Tom repeated his question in the same carefully controlled manner.

"Not your concern anymore," Harry responded dismissively.

Silence resumed, glaring mostly from Tom while Harry weighed the situation, trying to understand how it happened. Horcruxes, Chamber, someone innocent getting hurt… it was all painfully familiar except for one point. "The Dementor," Harry pointed out, still trying to coax any different reaction from Tom. "That's the only piece I don't quite understand."

Why bring involve a Dementor, he wasn't entirely sure to what end, but could only imagine the endless Dark magic possibility. He went for an easy question first, "How did you get it into Hogwarts?"

The blank expressions and unresponsiveness from Tom was quickly growing wearisome. Harry found his gaze wandering towards the fireplace, wondering if time was slipping away as quickly as his patience.

"We didn't," Tom's voice surprised him with the simple admittance.

"You didn't?" Harry repeated dubiously, before adding a touch of sarcasm, "I find that hard to believe. The Headmistress is pretty adamant against allowing them on school grounds."

Tom's expressionless stare continued.

"How did you get the Dementor into Hogwarts?" Harry repeated his question more firmly with a huff betraying his annoyance.

"We didn't," Tom reaffirmed.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes and started to think maybe he should wait for the Veritaserum after all. There were other places he needed to be than getting nowhere with him. Harry stood up from the desk, he walked around Tom to pace the room once. Fleetingly, he glanced up at some of the portraits as he went, many returning but saying nothing.

"I understand Hermione shares her research with you," Tom's voice stopped him in his tracks by the fireplace.

Harry picked his head up from gazing at the flames that held the slightest hue of green on them. The awaited guest they were expecting had to arrive. "She does," Harry answered.

"You recall her theories?" Tom didn't even turn his head in his direction, simply murmuring in a quiet voice. Harry took a few steps back towards him while he spoke with piqued interested, "About what it takes to create a Dementor?"

"Uh, sure something about not all soul fragments… are created equal," Harry struggled while he stepped around Tom's shoulder. "Some could get so torn," Harry blinked when it dawned on him, "Are you saying –"

"Indeed. Saw it myself," Tom finished smoothly.

Harry mused over it with open wonder for some time. For a bit, he allowed himself to believe the implications of that and what it meant. He could only imagine how many quills Hermione would break and ink that smudged on her face from writing on a paper on such findings.

But the thought of her, made Harry's stomach churn with trying to understand what had happened to her. He could almost see it now, her fighting against one of Voldemort's soul fragments. He tried to imagine it break into pieces before becoming a foul soulless creature. "So you, what?" Harry imagined aloud, feeling the anger burn within him at what likely happened, "She destroyed one of your horcruxes and you turned against her?"

Tom's lip curled dangerously before collecting himself and repeating once more, "Is she alive?"

"Why does it matter?!" Harry's voice rose, finally losing his patience. He shot off hotly, wanting to see something from Tom, feeling he was owed something other than this. "What, do you want to know if you finished the job?" Harry sneered on, forcing out the last word uncomfortably, "Offed another Mudblood?"

"Job?" Tom's expression began to twist again in confusion.

"Job, ritual, I don't really care what you call it!" Harry's voice began to rise. The shake in his shoulders when he was angry was beginning to return. "I want to know why I found you over her bloodied body. _What were you doing_?"

"Offed…" Tom repeated the word numbly as it dawned on him. The notion seemed so ridiculous to him, he had to voice it aloud slowly, "You think I was trying to _kill_ her?"

"Weren't you?" Harry bit back harshly.

Tom's expression twisted incredulously, letting his own frustration seep through openly for the first time. His wrists tugged against the shackles, perhaps in an urge to strangle Harry or pull out his own hair. Tom blurted out bluntly, "Why in the bloody hell would I call for your _help_ if I was trying to _kill_ her?"

Harry's head jerked back visibly. "You didn't call for help," He denied right away.

"Yes, I did," Tom remained quite firm, dropping some of the anger to simple bluntness.

"No," Harry began shaking his head in his disbelief, "No way –"

"Who else, Potter?" Tom challenged, unsure if the Auror's reaction was more childish or irritation at this point. Tom reasoned on with sarcasm at the end, "Point me towards any other person in that Chamber. Literally _any_ other person."

Tom's determination did give Harry pause. For a moment, he could see the gears turning in his head, but only for a second. "No," Harry's gut reaction won out. "That's impossible, you're –"

"I'm what? A Dark Lord? I couldn't possibly know a modicum of joy?" Tom cut him off with biting mockery, his eyes alight with more fire than before. He gave a harsh forced laugh that seemed grating in the suffocating office before adding on darkly, "Spare yourself, the first time it happened shocked the bloody hell out of me too."

Harry stared at him with a thoughtful frown at this point. For the first time, he hesitated to consider that Tom might be telling the truth. At the same time, he was still torn on the implications of what he was suggesting to be true. Yet, it would be such a peculiar thing to lie about it and everything in Tom's demeanor indicated he wasn't enjoying this either.

"Prove it."

Such simple words from Harry that caused Tom faltered, responding ungracefully, "Excuse me?"

Harry nodded, as if convincing himself further of the idea literally as it came to him. He leaned back against the desk once more, "I said prove it, Marvolo."

"Are you daft, perhaps clinically daft?" Tom tried to shift the conversation with mockery, not liking the direction it was beginning to turn. He added on a sourly, "I'm not a performance monkey."

Harry's eyebrow rose and he half shrugged, "Prove it."

Tom just glared back at him.

Harry didn't find it was irritating before as he slowly began to smirk, amending his thought as it came to him, "Prove it and I'll tell you what happened to Hermione."

"Bollocks," Tom called out without blinking.

"On my wand," Harry's smugness began to grow.

Green eyes danced with a mocking dare while Tom's own dark ones glared back. Tom was the first to look away with a scoff. "I debated for some time if I genuinely loathed you or simply did the idea of you because of what the others remembered," He still tried to deflect with a sneer, "but thank you for putting that debate to rest finally."

Harry found it hard to feel threatened in his position. Instead, he gave an unapologetic nod and replied back cheekily, "I'm waiting."

Tom gritted his teeth together, nostrils flaring while he took a deep breath. He looked away from Harry, feeling much too claustrophobic in the office while he weighed his options. He could do nothing and wait, but nothing good was going to happen next. That fact was written clearly before him. He wouldn't have much left after everything was said and done, pride being pretty small on the list.

Finally, he looked back up at Harry, who had openly watched him while he considered. "Do you mind?" Tom finally gave in, raising his wrists a bit to the clattering of metal. He very well couldn't cast with the shackles on.

If Harry was surprised by his cooperation, he managed to stifle it well. The thought had occurred to him that Tom may have been bluffing, but that diminished quickly with the leading gaze. Harry took half a step towards him before feeling the need to add, "It goes without say if you try anything." The threat was clear with his wand pointed at Tom.

Tom nodded briefly before replying drily, "Duly noted."

Harry gave a nod followed by a flick of his wand. The shackles fell away from Tom's wrists with a loud clatter on the ground. Immediately, Tom felt the relief of their weight not just on his arms but within. He breathed in deeply, as if the strength was returning. It was hardly fight for your life and escape type strength, but it lifted him in his chair.

He rubbed at his wrists briefly before opening his eyes again, Harry's wand still pointed accusingly at him. Doing his best to ignore it, Tom closed his eyes and clasped his hands in front of his mouth, balled together. It took several deep breaths for him to collect his thoughts and drown out the world around him. Quietly, he whispered into his hands, " _Expecto Patronum_."

It was nearly an impossible task for most wizards, Harry thought. He reasoned that there's no way this particular wizard could even muster a flicker. Especially since he had no wand and he had no intention of making it easier for him.

To say Harry was shocked when light escaped through the gaps of Tom's fingers was the understatement of the year. Harry's mouth gaped openly when Tom opened his hands, as if to let a fluttering butterfly escape. Except the ball of silver light grew, shimmering, until it took form and darted off.

Harry whirled on his feet to follow it about the room. Absently his wand falling to the side as the creature darted about, at one point rolling onto its back with a playful chattering. The room rose in a faint buzz of murmurings from the portraits. Amongst them was Armando Dippet clapping, "Marvelous!" Harry felt the lift in his heart as he did every time he witnessed a Patronus, but Tom just watched the creature from behind him with a longing sadness etched in his being.

While the radiating joy lifted Harry up, he always felt like a man experiencing the crushing gravity of the world for the first time. He reached for the desk for support, feeling the need to sit himself now, almost as if he'd aged a decade in a few seconds.

As the Patronus dashed past some of the former Headmaster portraits, one in particular leaned forward to look at Harry. As he frequently remembered in his youth, there was a particular twinkle in the portrait's blue eyes behind those spectacles.

"Harry, dear boy," Albus Dumbledore's voice was filled with a raspy mirth. "Wasn't Miss Granger's Patronus a –"

"An otter, yes Professor," Harry finished numbly, choosing to look up at the portrait, despite the pain in his chest from the memory of the beloved Headmaster.

The Headmaster leant back in his painting with a knowing nod, but Harry wasn't watching or listening anymore. Instead, he turned back to Tom.

Harry had to swallow back the lump in his throat to ask him one question. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to know the answer, but his mind was scattered and sickened at the same time. "Does she know?" His voice was small.

Tom's focus on the Patronus broke. He returned Harry's gaze lacking any of the anger and energy from before, exhaustion and resignation seeped back into his being. The otter stopped floating about and soon began to fade, the room dimming from its diminishing light.

"No," Tom admitted.

Harry nodded, unsure if that answer made him feel any better or worse. He was still fighting the urge to put his head between his knees. Numbly, he turned back to the portraits. His eyes passed slowly from Dippet to Dumbledore before settling on neither of them.

Truthfully, he had caught himself trying to talk to this one on a couple of occasions. It wasn't long though until he remembered the portraits weren't the actual people. They were just echoes. Like the ghosts of so many of his past.

For once, he just wanted to believe this one was real and would finally give him an answer. "And even now…" Harry fought to keep his voice even, willing the dark haired man to move, to say something, to do something other than perpetually glare at him down his beaked nose. Usually he was as still as the Muggle photos until Harry gave up and left.

"After everything, all this time. Is it still true?" He asked of him, remembering distant memories in a Pensieve.

The portrait of Severus Snape regarded him coolly before breathing out in one slow drawl, "Always."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Okay, who needs tissues?! I've been dying to post this chapter since I started writing this story. It was one of those scenes I couldn't shake out of my head since this all started. I hope you enjoyed it. Don't worry, we'll see Hermione next chapter. Please let me know what you think!


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